#girl have you ever fed all the animals and watered all the plants and fixed all the fences and cleared the land in 70 degree heat?

[carsonjonesfiance]

Every single one of y'all fuckers who talks like this would die after a week on a farm in the modern day let alone doing pre industrial farming. Apologize to every farmer right fucking now.

[mybrothershands]

MBH/Dumpling 2

second installment, same art because otherwise you'll be waiting on it all day tomorrow. Characters by myself and @diddlesanddoodles and editing by @thundering-susurrus

The giant pinched up his face as if he smelled something bad. He then prodded the lump in his chest-pocket. "Get up, you lazy fool."

Several emotions crossed Yale face all at once, from anger to confusion to relief. Now that he knew where to look, Yale could see a distinctive lump in the man’s front pocket and heard the smaller voice emanating from within. Well, if he had a human companion of his own, that was a welcome relief. But he still kept his hand on Nenani. Grinning, he jerked his head to indicate the lump on Ka's shirt. “Ah, well I suppose that answers that. He yer assistant then?”

"Parasite, more like," he said, fishing around in his pocket until he caught the man by the shirt and pulled his shoulders over the lip of the pocket.

"Why you little two-ton son of a hog-bellied cob, I ought to--" The human smacked the hand away.

A nervous laugh escaped the giant, and he clasped his hand over the smaller man's mouth. "Er, this is my brother. He took care of me when I was small," said Ka.

Yale had been watching Ka fish around in his pocket and smirked at the human’s grouchy reply. The human’s snark immediately reminded him of Farris, but upon hearing Ka call him his brother, Yale gave pause. His curiosity was piqued.

“Wha –? Really? Can’t say I’ve ever heard ‘a that. That must be one hell of a story,” he said and jerked his head towards Ka. “Ye must’ve had a time of it keepin’ ‘im fed and clothed proper.”

The giant paused, then seemed to draw back within himself and looked away. Cairo, however, had no such loss for words. "Got that right. Ungrateful, too. You should see the spot in my side where he--" The massive hand clamped over his mouth again.

"I, erm," Ka cleared his throat, worry painted on his face. "I was old enough to work when he took me in. I cleared land for a human farmer in exchange for food. Cairo paid for my clothes and gave me a place to stay."

Polly then decided to use his leg as a scratching post and began rubbing her face up and down the side of his pants, leaning into him. "Woah, hey!" Ka said as he was knocked off balance. Once he found his feet, he pulled her bridle back over her ear and straightened her forelock. "But yes, I'm," he waved his hand in a circle, "I can work with humans just fine. They just need to let me know they're there and keep away from my feet."

“Ah, well no worries there,” Yale said with a light laugh as he pulled his apron aside to reveal Nenani at his hip. “You know better than to be underfoot, ain’t that right Dumplin’?”

Nenani nodded while she observed the new giant and silently marveled at his height. Despite the way in which he towered over them, he had a kind face, and she was not afraid.

“Farris doesn’t like it if I’m on the floor,” she explained. “He doesn’t trust the footmen to keep a look out.”

Ka's expression softened. She was a little thing, even for her kind, with auburn hair that shone in the sunlight. Somehow she met his gaze without fear, and it gave him pause. "H-hello there," he said quietly. "I am Ka. It's nice to meet you, miss."

It took the giant a moment to realize that the young man must have been hiding her, and why he had questioned him so. Come to think of it, he had not seen a single small person, nor chest pocket since he had entered this town. Pieces began to fall into place, and he decided he should not stay here for long. Not with Cairo. Absently, his hand found its way to his pocket.

“Hi. I’m Nenani,” she replied back, trying to look friendly. He looked so nervous, she thought. Yale easily scooped her up and sat her on his leg. After getting comfortable, she gestured up at the cook and said, “And he didn’t say so, but this is Yale.”

Looking confused, Yale looked down at her. “I didn’t introduce myself at all did I?”

“Nope,” she replied. “That was very rude. Lolly would swat you.”

“Ah, well,” he said, giving Ka and Cairo an apologetic shrug. “She wouldn’t be too pleased with me bringin’ the lil’un on this errand either. So there’s that.”

Cairo grumbled as Ka fawned over this little girl. She seemed unafraid and even kind towards his brother, which he respected. Still, he regarded Yale with a critical eye. Hooking his elbow over the frayed lip of the pocket, the human raised his voice. "What kind of kitchen is this anyway, boy? It's a bit late in the day to be fetchin stuff. What are you doing out here now?"

“Best kitchen in Vhasshal,” Yale fired back with a smug grin. He pointed over his shoulder towards the castle behind them. “That being the royal kitchen.”

“But Gjerk didn’t clean the chimney and it ruined the luncheon roasts,” Nenani supplied with a frankness that made light of the true disaster. “Almost caught the whole kitchen on fire.”

Yale frowned and, blushing just a bit, agreed with a muted nod. “Aye. Well, even the best kitchen in Vhasshal can fall victim to inattentive tenderfoots. So we’re needin’ to shuffle things ‘round a bit. Headin’ to a merchant who raises and sells field rocs.”

Ka's face became a smiling mask with a blank stare. Royal kitchen? Was this boy not worried that some stranger picked off the street could poison someone Important? Even the king himself? What if something went wrong and he was blamed for it and put in prison? Even he himself was not sure he deserved such trust, and yet kept his mouth shut in hopes that there was something he did not know.

Cairo, meanwhile, looked the man up and down, and then the girl in turn. They seemed easygoing and honest, if not a bit frank. At last he nodded. "We will accept your offer."

The giant balked. "Cairo, I'm not sure--"

"Shut up," he said, waving a hand. "Your belly's been a'growling all day, and I'll have no more of it. This is an easy job, and you're gonna take it," Cairo barked.

Ka paused, a hint of frustration on his face. Still, this was Cairo. The giant seemed to let go of his worries and nodded. "Just tell me what to do," he said, fixing Yale in his gaze, "and I'll help as much as I can."

He seemed eager enough, Yale thought. And even if his kitchen skills were minimal, so long as he could hold a knife, he could find something for him to do. Ka’s human companion was clearly the more dominant of the two, which Yale found to be quite amusing. And even a bit refreshing. He was so used to humans reacting to him with fear or at the very least nervous suspicion. Not that they did not have a valid reason of course.

He decided he liked Cairo.

“Well, first we gotta go collect them rocs and scurry on back,” Yale said with a grin. “So if we just wanna follow along we’ll go get that done and we can get ye to work.” He paused as he considered Ka. “And get ye somethin’ t’eat. Farris might gripe at me fer it, but believe me. He’s gonna be thankful fer yer help. Even he don’t show it. Or say it. Or yells at ye.”

Yale flicked the reins to usher Polly forward, bringing a hand up to hold onto Nenani when she almost fell off his lap.

“Ah!”

“Oh, sorry there, Dumplin’.”

"Oh," said Ka as he backed away and let the animal slip past until he could walk beside the cab. This Farris fellow seemed a bit crotchety. "Thank you," he said above the creaking wheels. The mention of food set his mouth to watering. They had had so many good things down at the market, maybe now he could get his hands on something. "I can pay you, but I'm afraid my coin may just be trinkets to you."

From his pocket, Cairo squinted one eye, adjusting his position to better watch the small giant. "Why you call her 'dumpling,' anyhow?"

“It was a joke,” Nenani explained with a flat look. “Wasn’t a very funny one.”

“I dunno, I thought it was a pretty good one,” Yale replied with a knowing grin. He poked her belly and the girl squealed and laughed, batting at his fingers. She lost her balance and almost fell back off his lap, but Yale was quick enough to catch her and place her safely down on the bench beside him. He ruffled her hair into a bushy mess. “Anyway, I caught this one here after she’d nicked some fruit. And right in the middle of the King’s weddin’ feast too. Don’t think I’ve ever been that stressed in my life.”

“He threatened to eat me...” Nenani said with the same flat expression.

As lovely as he found the girl's laugh, Ka's smile quickly faded as the girl voiced the joke. He made a sound half way between a choke and a quack. "Hmm?"

Cairo looked more surprised at the noise his brother made than Nenani's admittance. "Oh he did, did he?" He sat up, eyeing Yale. "He looks like a pansy to me."

Yale could not help the smirk of satisfaction at seeing the way Ka reacted. But his focus drew to the man’s pocket and the human within. Leaning towards them and planting his hand on the other side of where Nenani sat, he grinned at the human man.

“Big words fer a fella who travels by pocket,” he challenged. “Why not come on outta there and I’ll show ye how much of a pansy I am.”

Nenani glared up at Yale and grabbed onto his sleeve and gave it a firm tug. “No fighting.”

Cairo merely laughed at the girl's reaction. "I ain't stupid. Think I'll stay in the pocket, eh?" He slapped Ka's chest.

The giant rolled his eyes. He kept pace with the cart fairly easily, even as the Svaldifari trotted. He cleared his throat. "Keep acting like that and I may just let him have you."

"What!" he exclaimed, clutching a hand over his heart. "He might skin me, don't you think? You brute, you should protect your poor old brother."

Ka sighed, plodding along. "You can take care of yourself just fine."

“Smart man, your brother,” Yale said to Ka. “With him taggin’ along, ye might just survive a day in Farris’s kitchen.”

There was something very comforting about watching Cairo and Ka banter. It was all too easy for Yale to be drawn back to the horrible memories of the war and the way it seemed to him at the time that the bloodletting would never cease. Yet before him was a man who openly and easily called a human his brother.

“As fer skinnin’: nah. Too much of a hassle. Much easier to just toss ye into the stew and pop the lid on.”

Beside him, Nenani rolled her eyes. She had become nearly desensitized to all staff’s banter about eating and cooking people. Cairo didn’t seem like the sort to take Yale seriously. But Ka, she observed, seemed to not care for the jokes at all.

Ka lolled his head back, exasperated, then clamped his hand back over Cairo's mouth. "Ne- Nena-nani, er..." he chewed on his tongue for a moment, still trying to decide how many syllables the girl's name had. "Nenani," he said decisively. "He... Yale. He said he found you stealing?" said the giant, desperate to change the subject.

There were a few shoves and knocks on his hand before there at last came a double-tap and Cairo's mouth was freed. However, he kept his mouth shut for once and watched the road ahead. The mare seemed to need a bit of guiding, unused to going this way, but Yale was not quite paying attention. He peered ahead. Was this the way they had come before? Where was the market?

“Oh. Yeah,” she replied as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt in slight embarrassment. “But it’s not like what Farris and they all thought at first. I’m not from the Hill Tribe, I’m from the Southlands. They were loading a bunch of carts near the docks and I tried to sneak in and grab a persimmon before anyone noticed, but the basket was really big and I just...kind of fell in. And got stuck.”

Yale stifled a snicker as he corrected Polly’s path. She whinnied at him in annoyance. “I remember all them peels, lil’un. It was certainly more than one.”

“I was in there for three days,” she said and stuck her tongue out at Yale. “What else was I gonna eat? The basket?” When Yale only shrugged at her, she continued. “I grew up being told stories about Vhasshal and I was really scared. So as soon as the caravan stopped, I tried to run.”

“Caught her tryin’ to make a run fer it,” Yale added lightly pinching her arm. “Didn’t get all that far. Like...a half a dozen yards maybe before I got ‘er.”

Ka frowned. He did not like the way that last bit sounded. He steered away as they passed another cart on the road. He wanted to ask the stories about Vhasshal, and why she had been so frightened, but the girl had not seemed a bit embarrassed about that point in her past. Come to think of it, maybe he did not want to know. "Persimmons... have peels?"

The edge of the village was approaching, and Yale could hear the sound of the rocs long before their pens came into view. Their destination was a handsome little cottage just at the end of the tight clusters of row homes. Though was an older building and had but a thatched roof, it was well maintained and clean. Behind it were the roc pens. There were a dozen or so of the birds loose in the larger space, and Yale felt relieved. He was only going to need ten for the luncheon service, and he’d be able to get a few extra just in case anything else went horribly wrong today.

“Well, I think they’re actually husks,” she was saying. “They’re from overseas somewhere. But you’re not supposed to eat the outsides because it’ll make you sick.”

“Ye did get sick though. Just not from eatin’ fruit,” Yale pointed out. His eyes trailed after the other cart as they passed, having seen the way they had been gawking at Ka. Poor guy must get that a lot.

“Yeah, I had the red reap,” Nenani said. “It was terrible. But Farris took care of me and gave me medicine and watched me all night while I had the fever.”

Ka blinked, trying to make sense of this new information. He had no idea what red reap was, but then again, he was not familiar with most diseases. "It sounds terrible," he said, worry on his brow. The way she had explained it, it sounded deadly. He could not imagine having to care for someone through the night, not knowing if the little thing would make it.

Though he had not yet met the man, Ka found himself reconsidering this Farris guy. If he was the type to yell at someone new, it seemed a bit backwards that he would worry over a thief. He shook the thought away. He had not met him yet. Maybe he would understand later.

It was then he heard some bird-like squabbling, and looked up to find a pen with some frighteningly large feathery beasts. "What... are those?" He felt a bit stupid for asking, but then again, nothing was familiar to him here. Nothing at all.

"What, you never seen a chicken before?" Cairo butted in.

“Oh them ain’t no chickens,” Yale answered, giving Cairo an amused sideways glance. “Those are common field rocs. Those beauties eat chickens fer breakfast. Literally. They’re birds of prey. And they’re what we’re here fer.”

Yale maneuvered the cart towards the pens and when they were close enough, he pulled the reins lightly and Polly came to a gentle halt. She turned to her head back at Yale, expectation in her eyes. With a chuckle, he reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a pressed oat cake. Turning to Ka, he held out the treat. “Wanna give Polly her reward while I go spend the king's money?”

A grin spread across Ka’s face, and he chuckled. "Seems she's in good hands," he said, gently taking the biscuit from him.

~~~

Twelve common field rocs were in the back of the cart, their wings tied down to their sides and hemp sacks placed over their heads to keep them docile. Nenani hung off the back of the driver’s bench, looking down at the immobilized birds. They were as large as cows, and it was a little daunting to think that there were birds that big in the world.

The trip back was fairly uneventful, except that news of Ka seemed to have made its way around the village, They seemed to be getting more stares than before, but Yale made a point of staring down whatever gawkers he noticed. But he did not have the same presence as Farris did, and mostly, the people just kept on staring.

Nenani found it to be pretty rude, and to several she stuck out her tongue.

As they approached the back gate that led to the kitchen courtyard, the guards stationed there did double takes as Ka came into view, but Yale was quick to head off any questions. “He’s here to help out for the day. If you have a problem with that, take it up with Farris.”

There was enough of a threat in those words that they were allowed to pass without any form of harassment.

“Don’t let those guards make ye nervous none, lad,” Yale said to Ka. “Most of ‘em are real decent fellas.”

Yale was still looking towards Ka as he directed Polly along the road, around the last bend, and into the courtyard. He pulled the reins and was about to say something else when felt a tug on his sleeve and he looked down at Nenani. “Hm? What’s it?”

Nenani merely pointed further ahead of them and Yale’s gaze followed along. A large fire pit had been lit in the middle of the yard, and the largest of their cooking pans was placed over the top, with a sizable pile of pumpkins next to it. Saen and Avery were in the middle of carving a few up but had made little headway.

But what had caught their eye was none of them, but the solitary figure just a short distance away. Standing with his arms akimbo and looking very displeased was Farris. His green eyes narrowed at Yale.

“Yer fuckin’ late.”

Ever since the border guards, Ka had gotten increasingly fidgety. As soon as Yale quieted down, he slowed up and walked behind the cart. The castle ahead was bigger than any he had seen, especially this close up. He ran his hand up and down his sleeve, trying to create some warmth as his breath crystallized before him. Upon hearing the voice, the giant's first impression was how gravelly and frayed it sounded, possibly from overuse. The second was that it did not sound happy.

"What's it to you?" Cairo muttered under his breath. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction, than anything, but it was enough to remind Ka to keep an eye on him. The human's left arm and legs lolled out of the pocket. He picked at his teeth as the giant walked. "Move over, Ka, I want to get a look at this meathead."

Ka merely shook his head, hand straying up to cover the man. "Be careful here. We don't know for sure if it's safe yet." There came a grumbling and a shove at the fingers, but for the most part he kept his mouth shut.

Before Yale could even begin to explain himself, Farris caught sight of Ka, and the kitchen master’s eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and up and up until he met the taller giant’s eye. “And just who in the Seven Hells are ye?”

Ever since the border guards, Ka had gotten increasingly fidgety. As soon as Yale quieted down, he slowed up and walked behind the cart. The castle ahead was bigger than any he had seen, especially this close up. He ran his hand up and down his sleeve, trying to create some warmth as his breath crystallized before him. Upon hearing the voice, the giant's first impression was how gravelly and frayed it sounded, possibly from overuse. The second was that it did not sound happy.

"What's it to you?" Cairo muttered under his breath. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction, than anything, but it was enough to remind Ka to keep an eye on him. The human's left arm and legs lolled out of the pocket. He picked at his teeth as the giant walked. "Move over, Ka, I want to get a look at this meathead."

Ka merely shook his head, hand straying up to cover the man. "Be careful here. We don't know for sure if it's safe yet." There came a grumbling and a shove at the fingers, but for the most part he kept his mouth shut.

Before Yale could even begin to explain himself, Farris caught sight of Ka, and the kitchen master’s eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and up and up until he met the taller giant’s eye. “And just who in the Seven Hells are ye?”

Before Ka could answer, though, Yale jumped in. “Came across him on the way to get the rocs. He was lookin’ fer some work, and I offered to let him help us today.”

All through Yale’s explanations, Farris sized Ka up with a critical eye, pausing at the distinct bulge in the tall man’s pocket. His eyes narrowed suspiciously before turning their vitriol onto his assistant. 

“Oh ye did, did ye?” he demanded. “Are ye fuckin’ daft boy?”

Yale hopped down off the cart. “We need the extra help, and as mad as ye are, ye can’t deny the big fella could be of some help. Hell, he’d make short work breakin’ down the pumpkins.” Yale leaned around Farris to yell past him towards his fellow cooks. “A whole lot faster than them two knobheads!”

Saen and Avery looked up from their work to glare back at Yale. Avery waved his knife in the air, calling back, “Go fuck yerself, Yale.” 

Yale was still grinning when Farris drew his attention back with a growl. “And ye think I’d let just anyone off the street come in and cook in my kitchen, do ye?”

Yale glanced over his shoulder at Ka and then back to Farris. With a shrug, he said, “Honestly boss, I don’t think he’d fit. Be a bit tight.”

Farris’s ever-present glare faltered as an amused smirk crossed his lips. With a grunt he looked back at Ka. “Ye have any experience in a kitchen there, son?”

The giant clutched his fists against his chest, shoulders hunched and brow scrunched with worry. Though the man was half his height, he scared Ka. He looked like someone who knew how to fight and just might if aggravated.

"Y-yessir, just a bit, sir." Ka stuttered, coming out from behind the wagon. "Look, I promise I mean no harm, sir. I just, well I- I- I was looking for some work is all. He was nice enough to give me a chance. I promise I'll do my best if you'll only let me help."

Farris was silent for several moments, eyeing Ka once more. “Where ye from?”

The giant straightened up a bit, a slight hope welling in his chest. "Benhyke, sir. I'm... trying to find my way back there, actually."

“Never heard of it. So ye mean to tell me yer as tall as a fuckin’ house with no proper sense of direction?” The kitchen master didn’t give Ka a chance to answer before walking over to the cart where Nenani sat. He laid his arm across the drivers bench and looked at the girl. “What say ye Dumplin’? Think he’s some sort of secret assassin tryin’ to worm his way into the castle?”

Nenani blinked and shook her head. “No.” 

“Well, if yer so sure,” he said with a small smile and scooped her up. Tucking her into the crook of his arm, he turned back to Ka.  The warmth he had spoken to Nenani with was gone and the harsher tone returned. “Ye got a name?”

He scratched his head, still harboring the initial insult in his mind, and had not quite heard him speak to the girl. "What? O-oh I am Ka. And this is--" he paused. At first caution took over, but once he saw the way he cared for Nenani, the fear melted. "--Cairo," he finished.

Upon hearing his name, a single hand came out of the pocket and gave a dramatic wave. "Evening to you, you motherless goat," he called, then the hand disappeared again.

Farris’s expression darkened and, behind him, Yale was making a frantic motion with his hands at Ka that translated roughly to “Bad idea. Stop.”

“I’ll give ye fair warning now, boy,” Farris warned as he walked towards Ka. Pressing further into his space, he stared up at the taller giant and pointed towards his pocket. “Keep that one’s mouth under control or I’ll be doin’ it fer ‘im. I’ve had plenty of humans toss out insults at me and, one way or another, they learn not to. If ye wanna work, I’ve got work fer ye. And you’ll be paid fair wages fer it. But if that one skulking in yer pocket don’t watch it, he’s gonna become intimately acquainted with the inside of a roasting pan.”

Ka's face paled and he backed away, clutching one hand to his pocket. "No! No, please, he's my brother. Y-you can't--I won't..." He seemed to get ahold of himself then, squared his shoulders. "Take that back," he said, regaining his ground. If it were not for the girl in his arms, Ka was not sure what he might have done.

Farris did not back away, and his only movement was to use his free hand to cover Nenani as though to shield her. He met Ka’s eyes with a firm unwavering stare. “I don’t take it back. This is my kitchen and my word is law.” Farris let a small smirk come to his lips. “Just keep in mind though, I didn’t say nothing about actually cookin’ ‘im.”

The giant blinked, relaxing a bit. "What?"

At this point, Cairo heaved a dramatic sigh and pulled himself up. He looked the man up and down and came to a conclusion. "Ugly lump."

Nenani poked her head out from behind Farris’s hand. “No fighting.” 

At Nenani's word, Ka took a step back. There was still anger in his blood, and he elected to stay on his toes, but any hostility was snuffed out by the girl's voice.

Farris only adjusted his hand to ruffle her hair.  “Well ye ain’t no Blue Thorn Beauty yerself,” Farris shot back at Cairo, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Ain’t ye a bit old fer being carried ‘round like a babe?”

Cairo raised a brow, then patted the chest behind him. "This one here's the baby when it comes down to it, little man. Now--" He cut himself off as if he had heard something. "Alright already," he grumbled at apparently nothing. "What do I have to do to get your sorry bag of bones to do something decent, eh? This boy's half starved."

"Cairo..." Ka hissed through his teeth. "I haven't done the work yet."

Farris huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yale,” he called without taking his eyes from the pair. “Go grab this one one ‘a the leftover meat pies.” He paused, reconsidering the man and his height. “Make that two.”

“Will do, boss,” Yale replied, flashing Ka a wide grin before running off towards the stairway that led into the kitchen proper. 

“I don’t run a charity here,” Farris told him sternly. “But if yer gonna be any use to me at all today, it wont be with an empty belly. Ye’ll eat and then ye’ll work. Understand?”

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

[mobius-prime]

78. Sonic the Hedgehog #50/Sonic Super Special #6 - Director’s Cut

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Endgame Part 4 of 4 (For Whom the Bell Tolls!)

Writers: Ken Penders, Michael Gallagher, Karl Bollers, and Kent Taylor Pencils: Patrick Spaziante, Manny Galan, Nelson Ortega, Sam Maxwell, Dave Manak, Ken Penders, and Art Mawhinney Colors: Karl Bollers

Oh, yeah! I told you this was a landmark issue! Not only was it the big 5-0, but this issue was in fact rewritten and touched up some time later by Penders himself, into a "Director's Cut" printed in one of the series' Super Special issues! Hence why two issues are listed in this slot, and two covers shown. They got absolutely everyone on board for this one, because remember, they were uncertain if this would be the comic's final issue, so makes sense to go out with a bang, right? I consider the revised version to be "true" canon, since it fixes some issues to align with later continuity as well as expanding on some things that were poorly explained in the original, but for the sake of the analysis I decided to read both side by side and comment on the differences. Some changes are simply minor dialogue alterations and recoloring of certain panels, while others are massive additions and rewrites of entire sections. Let's do it to it!

The original's intro page is once again a recap of previous events, while the Director's Cut contains an opening statement from Penders expressing his excitement to be able to go back and perfect the original story. Say what you will, but I agree, the revision is far better, and I have to give him credit and recognize that yeah, him getting to do something like this for one of his stories really is a treat, both for the writer and for any fans reading it.

We open with a flashback. Julian (referred to as "son of Ivo" in the original and "of the house of Ivo" in the Director's Cut) is running through a swampy landscape, attempting to escape his pursuers, an indistinct bunch of shadows firing lasers at him. He falls into water and passes out, with his pursuers losing track of him… and two spiny figures find him facedown in the mud.

That’s right, Sonic's uncle and father were the ones originally responsible for finding ol' Julian and bringing him back to the king. Jules' kind heart wins out over Charles' more suspicious tendencies, noting that "his kind" - Overlanders, as he calls them - have apparently done some pretty awful things in the past. Well this is all very interesting stuff, isn't it? After all, the comics never went into Robotnik and Snively's species before now. The entire planet has always been shown to be populated with anthropomorphic animals, and yet these two random humans stick out like a sore thumb. Guess we're finally getting some information on how exactly that came to be.

The king gives Julian shelter after Julian reveals how much he knows about his own people, and thus quickly finds himself appointed King Acorn's warlord, commanding his troops in a battle against the Overlanders. How fascinating! Apparently the kingdom, shortly before Julian's coup, was locked in a different war, the Great War (which I think has been mentioned once or twice before now but never elaborated on), which is how Julian rose to power so quickly.

Anyway, all of this turns out to be a dream that Robotnik is experiencing while he sleeps in some kind of weird upright pod. I guess he's just too crazy for normal beds. In the original, swatbots merely wake him up to go about his day, but the Director's Cut elaborates on what exactly his morning entails. Apparently, the swatbots have captured an Overlander for him, and the poor victim's awaiting some "tests."

So wherever these Overlanders are residing (considering we've only ever seen Mobians so far), they knew Julian, but believed him to be dead, and they're familiar with the terrifying figure of "Robotnik." Robotnik is merely mildly amused at the Overlander's confusion and terror, and tests some kind of beam on him, causing him to disintegrate and disappear… oh, boy.

Back on the Floating Island, things begin to break into a fight again, only for Dulcy to get fed up and break things up.

Oh, so now not only can dragons sense truth, but they can't even lie themselves? Again with the eleventh hour superpowers, Kenders! With Dulcy's testimony, Geoffrey is finally convinced of Sonic's innocence, having really no choice, and together they make haste back to Knothole, where the situation has gotten dire. Everyone has been rounded up by swatbots and are being shuffled along to be roboticized. Tails and Rotor make an attempt to sneak away, but no dice with Drago overseeing operations.

In the original, we get a quick cutaway for one page where Crocbot is called by Robotnik and reports that he's dealing with a sudden prison uprising, but the Director's Cut gives us a lot more detail. Somehow, Bunnie and Antoine have gotten free of their collars and detonated Antoine's from a safe distance, making their guard think they've all been obliterated. (How this all went down is actually explained in a future issue - none of these escape from Downunda sequences were included in the original, so a later issue actually went out of its way to explain the whole thing. As a result, even though some detail is revealed here in the Director's Cut about the escape, there are still some blanks waiting to be filled in further on.) The freed prisoners soon find the other three members of the Downunda Freedom Fighters, and they head to the loading docks where Crocbot is overseeing the transport of the ore to Robotropolis. The Downunda Freedom Fighters cause a distraction, ready to get some much-needed payback on Crocbot, while Bunnie and Antoine make their way onto one of the shipping airbuses headed back to their own continent.

Meanwhile, Sonic, Knuckles, and Geoffrey and all his troops have arrived at Knothole, and well, cheers love, the cavalry's here!

While Drago attempts to make his getaway, the Director's Cut cuts away for one page to show Bunnie and Antoine stumbling upon a very interesting video log on board their airbus, in which Robotnik happily rambles on about his new "Ultimate Annihilator, " with which he intends to erase Knothole from existence entirely, followed by conquering the rest of the world unopposed.

Sonic pursues Drago, and in the original, he's knocked out not very far from the commotion by a rock thrown by an angry Hershey. However, the Director's Cut goes a little further. She lures him in by flirting, telling him that "What girl wouldn't want a winner…"

She basically straight up attempts to murder his ass in a screaming rage, which honestly, I don't blame her for one bit. She does indeed end up knocking him out with the rock, at which point Sonic arrives to observe the scene. She sobs and reveals her part in Sally's supposed death, to which Sonic merely replies that she shouldn't blame herself, because "we were all duped." While by now Bunnie and Antoine have arrived on scene (and thus so has the ore Robotnik needs to complete his Ultimate Annihilator), Sonic races toward his final destination - Robotnik himself.

He barely even stops to kick Snively out of his way, with Snively apparently quite determined to stop him from reaching his destination. Hey, what's up Snively? Didn't you want your uncle's plans to fail?

From here, I'll basically just be using the Director's Cut, since the ending sequence was so drastically changed for the better that the original isn't even worth our time. Sonic runs into Antoine and Bunnie in the halls, where they inform him of their plan to attempt to detonate Robotnik's weapon before it can fire. Sonic races to buy them time, but as the pair reach the cannon…

There's still a chance! That was only the initial activation! Come on Sonic, you can get there in time! He races into Robotnik's room with seconds on the clock…

Unfortunately, sometimes, even Sonic's speed isn't enough.

I feel like if there was any moment that Sonic would have let out a precision F-bomb, it would be now. First this kid lost his girlfriend, then everyone he ever loved was wiped out in an instant. Damn, dude…

Things aren't over, though. Bunnie and Antoine plant their bomb anyway, and as Sonic races for Robotnik, an alert announces a catastrophic system crash, with the Annihilator set to explode and hit the war room directly - right where Sonic and Robotnik are standing. Both stand facing each other. Surprisingly, Robotnik isn't even angry. He merely states that he's gotten to see his plans finally come to fruition, and that the only thing he wants now before he dies is to finally kill his most hated nemesis.

And so, as the Annihilator fires, they fight - and the explosion hits them.

We get a full blank white page after this. Just empty nothingness.

Then, a hand shattering through. A torso. Somehow, incredibly, Sonic is alive, and has broken back through oblivion to collapse in the rubble of the war room. As he loses consciousness, voices call out, noticing him and racing to get him immediate medical attention.

He wakes up several hours later in bed, and to his shock, Dr. Quack is there - as well as Rotor. He's in Knothole. Knothole! The Ultimate Annihilator did indeed hit the village, but it didn't destroy it as monitors seemed to indicate - rather, strangely, it catapulted the place three hours into the future, in its own little pocket zone. New zones have begun to emerge all over Mobius as a result of the Annihilator's explosion, in fact. Dr. Quack explains how this happened - as it turns out, Snively was indeed plotting his treachery from the beginning of this adventure, and Robotnik was so caught up in his success that he had no idea. Dr. Quack had watched, as he looked after the crystallized king in captivity, as Snively had made his own little "adjustments" to the Annihilator - causing it to target only the organic matter of Robotnik himself, leaving the rest of the inhabitants of the world unharmed.

And, oh, right, almost forgot. Sally's alive.

Sonic races out of the medical ward to see her, finding her memorial "coffin" in a field, lying undisturbed. He opens it and kisses her cheek, quietly begging her to come back, admitting that he loves her. And her eyes open. The original merely moves on to the final page from here, but in the Director's Cut, we finally get what we shippers have been waiting for this whole time - the Big Damn Kiss.

*wipes tear from eye* And that's it! We've reached the end of Endgame, and thus the end of the comic! Well it's been a wild ride, everyone, but I guess we're - wait, what? There's more? 289 issues more, you say? Well, I guess it's a relief the comic didn’t end here after all! There're so many more loose ends to tie up and explore, new worlds to see… and a new era of the comic to enter!

Seriously though guys, let's hear it for this arc. I know some people who dislike it, but I honestly love it - I think it's one of the most epic, pulse-pounding, action-packed stories so far, and it's really the arc that finally took the comic from still hanging onto its goofy, episodic roots into something really special. Next issue, we enter the third era of the comics, where we get to see everyone explore a freed world, and an end to the war that's plagued them for eleven years. Our Brave New World awaits!

[wonderlandleighleigh]

A Kitten in the Sarah Rogers Memorial Community Garden

I promised @toenail-stink-hate-echo-chamber a fluffy fic involving Steve Rogers and a Kitten. 

Takes place in my Just This Once, Everybody Lives universe (Steve stays, adopts a little girl named Maggie, and nobody dies).

Title: A Kitten in the Sarah Rogers Memorial Community Garden Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Maggie Rogers  Ships: None Genre: Fluff, Kidfic, AU Summary: Steve finds a visitor in the garden. 

Fic is under the cut!

It’s May, and beautiful. There’s lemonade, there are new mint plants to find homes for, and nobody is calling his phone. 

Today, Steven Grant Rogers is fully enjoying his retirement. 

It’s easy to get caught up in the garden, and he does it often. Watering and weeding; soil checks. Making sure animals haven’t swiped the literal fruits and vegetables of his labor. It’s also a great way to keep his mind off of the fact that Maggie is now attending preschool. 

‘How the hell did that happen, anyways?’ he thinks as he keeps weeding, and decides it’s time to give up on a particularly unhappy strawberry bush.

There is a rustling sound in the rose bushes, and Steve’s ears perk up immediately. It’s getting late now, and he should be wrapping things up; Maggie will be home soon, and he’s gotta be at the bus stop.

But that rustling. 

He stands carefully, moving quietly across the garden, grasping a hand rake tightly. If it’s a raccoon, this could end with a trip to the hospital and a lot of jokes from Sam about Captain America getting rabies. 

When he pulls the bushes aside, though, it’s not a raccoon at all.

It’s a kitten.

Small, less than a year old, probably, and orange.

It gives a tiny meow, and then runs off, trotting away quickly in fear. 

Steve frowns. 

“Aw.” 

***** 

Sam shakes his head as he watches his friend carefully set down a small bowl of cream. “Okay. This is definitely the softest thing you’ve ever done.” 

“You know, you say that, but you’ve never seen me wear onea Maggie’s flower crowns,” Steve tells him as he dusts off his hands. 

“Yeah, okay, Mr. You get killed, shake it off.” 

Steve grins ruefully and sits down on the bench swing. “Go away before you scare the kitten.” 

“There isn’t a kitten.” 

“There might be soon.” 

Sam shakes his head and laughs. “You better send me a picture of this thing, otherwise it might be time to send grandpa to the funny farm.” 

“Bye, Sam.” 

After he leaves, Steve sits back and waits. It’s another nice day; a little hotter, but fine. 

He waits for about an hour, tapping his booted foot gently in the dirt, before he hears the rustling again, and freezes. 

The kitten - the same kitten - stumbles out of the rose bushes again, looking around. It’s tail is a little matted, but it seems okay; happy to sniff the air and follow its nose to the bowl of cream. 

Steve lights up when the little thing starts lapping some up, dunking a paw in and licking the cream off.

He watches for a little while as the kitten eats, before he slowly, carefully bends over, and scoops it up.

It yelps and writhes and Steve barely keeps hold, before the little sucker is gnawing on the meat between his forefinger and thumb. 

“Gah,” he says, but doesn’t let go.

The cat pees on his jeans and frowns. 

“Yeah. Okay. I get it. If a big scary monster grabbed me, I might pee too.” 

Which is not at all true. He’s been grabbed by plenty of big, scary things (Thanos. Ultron. That one time with the Hulk...), but he’s trying to relate.

***** 

The local vet is nice. An older man whose office walls are covered in photos of dogs and cats and birds and ferrets and hampsters and guinea pigs of all shapes, colors and sizes. 

Steve watches calmly as he checks out the kitten. 

“Well, he’s definitely a he,” the vet says. “And he seems pretty healthy for a kitten who hasn’t spent much time with his mother.” 

Steve nods. “He okay to adopt?” 

“Oh, I don’t see why not,” the vet grins. “He’ll need to be neutered and we’ll have to do some blood work. Check him for worms and fleas and diseases. Why don’t you leave him here overnight, and I’ll call you in the next day or two with a status update.” 

Steve hesitates. 

“I promise I’ll call, Captain.” 

He nods. “Yeah. Okay.” 

***** 

“A kitty?!” Maggie squeaks as they eat dinner that night. “Really?!” 

“Yep,” Steve grins. “He was in the garden. He’s hangin’ out with the animal doctor right now, but if he gets a clean bill of health, I can bring him home.” 

“We’re gonna have a kitty?!” Maggie cries, so excited that she knocks over her sippy cup, which Steve catches quickly. 

“Yep!” Steve grins. “We’re gonna have a kitty.” 

“What do we name him?” Maggie asks. “Where will he sleep? Does he get his own room?” 

Steve chuckles. “He can sleep on the couch.” 

Maggie frowns. “Where will Uncle Bucky sleep when he visits?” 

“They’ll just have to share,” Steve grins. “As for a name, we’ll have to think on it.” 

“What about Buttercup?” Maggie asks. 

Steve chuckles. “Let’s keep thinkin.” 

***** 

Steve picks up the kitten two days later. Little guy’s got a clean bill of health, and Steve watches him as he explores the apartment, jumping on tables  and wiggling his way underneath the couch.

Steve grabs a chair and settles down, just watching. It’s nice to have a pet. He never had one as a kid, but he fed neighborhood strays all the time.

His mother had always liked animals. Sure, she was a nurse for people, but there were plenty of days the neighborhood kids would come to Sarah Rogers with wounded dogs and cats and she’d fix ‘em up, feed ‘em water. 

He can almost hear her voice, giving firm but kind instructions on animal care.

“Not so different from people,” Sarah Rogers would muse when Mrs. Grossman next door would chide her on wasting food and resources on injured dogs and sickly cats. “And if God put ‘em on Earth with us, he didn’t do it just for us to ignore their pain.”  

Steve smiles sadly, and blinks, looking down to find the kitten sitting at his feet, wagging his tail. 

“Hungry, Buddy?” Steve asks, getting up. 

The cat’s butt wiggles and he pounces suddenly, gripping onto Steve’s jeans. 

He chuckles. “Okay. Let’s to a trip to the kitchen. I gotcha some nice Fancy Feast.” 

***** 

When Maggie gets home, the kitten suddenly has another playmate, and it’s clear that they’re going to be attached at the hip. 

“Still needs a name,” Steve reminds her after dinner that night. 

She lays on the floor with the kitten lying on her chest. “What about...Tigger.” 

Steve considers. “Maybe. He did pounce on my leg earlier to hitch a ride.” 

Maggie giggles. “I hope he does it again, I wanna see.” 

Steve grins, and reaches out, petting the kitten’s head. “Hm. What about...Ralph?” 

Maggie light up. “Like Wreck-It Ralph? We watched that movie it was funny!” 

“Yeah. You like that name?” Steve asks, smiling at her. 

Maggie beams at the cat. “Kitty your name is Ralph now. Is that good?” 

Ralph gets up, turns in a circle, and then settles back down on Maggie’s chest, tucking his little head into his arms and purring. 

“I think he likes it,” Steve grins. 

***** 

When Maggie goes to bed that night, Ralph follows her and settles down on the bed, curling up again.

Steve grins and snaps a picture with his phone before sending it to Sam.

“Who’s the crazy old grandpa now?” he texts. 

“It’s still you,” Sam responds.

Steve smirks, and heads to bed.

[writingsomestupidshitlovelies]

FMA AU; The Small Difference

I have this FMA AU where Ed saves a town from this whole big conspiracy that involved the town’s local church-- think the whole “Leto” situation except escalated times 100 and with a mini-civil war breaking out across this no-name area that the military has been neglecting. The whole area is kind of barren: food shortages, unreliable water source, crackpot doctors giving incorrect prescriptions, the whole shebang.

Anywhoot, when he’s done Saving Lives he gets up on this stone-pedestal type thing and stands before the crowd of people waiting for answers, and tells them what was happening and things he did/could do to help. Like he has a very basic knowledge of medicine/medical alchemy (he has automail and knows how to do basic maintenance on that, he and his brother had to do some pretty serious research on the human body to do the transmutation, and Ed healed himself after being impaled-- no matter how poorly or enhanced, he still had that basic knowledge.) and changed the acidity of the soil so things could grow better/ grew some of the crops faster, fixed the water filter, etc.

But while he’s giving this speech and telling people what he did and now what they should do, he inadvertently positioned himself so that the statue of their Goddess/messenger of their Goddess is directly behind him, so it looks like he has these huge stone wings. Their Goddess is one of truth and healing, and what has this boy done? He has healed their people from greed and illness and starvation, and he has unveiled the lies that were being fed to them. It helps that their religion has this well-known story of the Sword and his Shield, believed to be two parts of their Godess’ whole: Edward is more abrasive and blunt and honest but also caring and passionate (just like the truth should be); meanwhile, Alphonse is sweet and hopeful and determined (his mere presence can be healing at times). They see Al’s armor and it reminds them of this story: the person made of armor and the person that was completely made of metal/gold aside from his piercing eyes (Fullmetal, anybody?) and how the two were borne from man’s transgressions but the Goddess whispered to them and they became the most human of all. (Sorry for going into a bit of a rant here I am super interested in my made up religion lol)

So it doesn’t change anything. At first.

When Ed is on the run with Greedling they don’t do nothing. Greed does primarily want friends, and he knows Ed has to stay under the radar, but he is still Greed: he still wants power and fuck does he want to thrive after he beats down Father and his so-called siblings. So first they get disguised: Greed just wears his tacky clothes and, when not in their more animal forms, Heinkel and Darius just look like very confused and gruff dads. Ed needs to change: he gets some sort of haircut but Ed is Ed so he gets it in a bob or pixie cut or something super edgy. He disguises his automail by adding unnecessary flourishes to it: snakes or vines with flowers and skulls-- people associate him with the sleekest, newest models, now it looks like his arms are art pieces. Without the cloak and the hair and the different automail, most people don’t recognize him. Greedling’s group ends up saving a few towns and recruiting some more people: Ishvallans from slums, human chimera that are in hiding, hungry children without a home. As much as the entirety of the group try to pretend otherwise, the four and-a-half (does Greed-Ling count as two people??) original members are huge softies. 

And while they’re doing that? The town that Ed saved have been whispering. They see the wanted posters and frown. Because this boy saves lives. Because they’ve been following his misadventures and he’s helped so many people. Word of mouth lets them know that Ed and Al frequently help homeless people, pay off others’ debts, sit down and talk to someone on the knife’s edge, give thieves money and a stern talking to, help rebuild and feed and protect (without alchemy) in the Ishvallan districts. Edward is good, and they won’t believe this bullshit. They don’t believe that Ed is their Goddess, or even that he’s an angel of some sort, but there is this quiet belief that the Goddess crafted the Elric brothers herself, that she made them to save lives and bring goodness. They start rumbles of discontent. Contact people in towns the brothers had saved. It’s a quiet rebellion, but a rebellion none-the-less. People recognize Edward as the Fullmetal Alchemist and turn a blind eye, don’t call the authorities. They protest against more laws and officers than ever before. Something is stirring.

Ed and co. start a smear campaign against military officials they know are in on the whole “immortality” thing. With alchemy, the right lighting, and a camera, there isn’t a lot Ed can’t do. Scandals about officers sighted being at brothels or hitting a child are reported, mostly in gossip magazines, but the talk has started. Ed pays two little thief girls to cry and make say that this officer pushed them or threw their ice-cream money in the sewer or slapped their mother. He starts rumors about Lab Five and greedy old men that would take the lives of a whole country just for power and about a ruthless dictator who only acts innocent.  He encourages haunted ex-soldiers to talk to newspapers about the atrocities they were forced to commit. Anonymous women speak about how often the old men come to “see” them. Ed is thankful that Ling is part of their group because he never could have done this himself. Mustang is thankful because people in positions of power are weakening and he manages to pass a few laws and get a few people fired and get himself lined up for a promotion.

It all builds up when Greed remembers a base of operations full of fake philosopher's stones and chimeras and weapons. In order to take it out, Greedling needs a distraction. Ed, who has been hiding in slums and hanging out with the outcasts of Amestrian society, knows exactly what to do. He makes a monument. It takes a few days to set it up, but then he’s got it. It’s almost in the center of the city he’s in and it is covered in names. Designs of foreign desert plants line the oddly-rounded building. Ed has been speaking to survivor’s for months. He’s asked them if he could do this. It is the names of all the Ishvallan victims he has read and heard about. A statue of the Rockbells fitting a tired man with a new arm, of a now-dead Ishvallan with his arms and mouth open and beseeching eyes, of the real heroes of Ishval are scattered about. There’s a statue of Wrath, pleasant expression on his face and one hand on his sheathed sword and the other holding a leash. Collared to the leash is Kimblee, sadistic elation on his face and one armed stretched, crackling with alchemic energy. In front of him is an Ishvallan priest, face firm and determined, arms linked with Ishvallans that are faceless aside from piercing red eyes. Signs are in front of names and statues, giving estimated death tolls and heroic acts and anti-military sentiment. Of course the place is stormed. But people are already gathered around and inside. Ishvallans link arms just like in the statue around the monument because this is theirs, because they’ve given up so much but to finally see an acknowledgment? To see real stories and real names and the blunt, harsh truth? They won’t give in. They didn’t before and they won’t now. Guns are pointed at them, and the hesitation to shoot isn’t even there. Hate crimes done by the military are a constant, no one will even look twice at this. But then, a woman runs in front of them, eyes hard and mouth thin. She’s Amestrian. “My mother,” she begins, “died for something she didn’t believe in. She died in your dumb war so that my little brother wouldn’t be drafted. I won’t let you kill anyone else. Not again.” And she’s crying, but her arms are spread and she means it.  “Move.” One Amestrian woman could be a scandal, but swept under the rug. The soldiers stand firm. “No.” says one of her friends, standing besides her and linking arms like the Ishvallans behind them. “We let this happen once. We will not let history repeat.” And her friends join. The crowd thins as Amestrians stand in front of Ishvallans, arms linked, a silent but loud promise: You have to go through us to get to them. They use their privilege to protect, this once. They are all scared, terrified, but seeing the names and reading the stories somehow makes it all real: genocide. Not a war, genocide.  One soldier points his gun, finger on the trigger, and Ed decides he’s done hiding. “Instead of killing innocent civilians, why not pick on someone who can fight back? ‘Course, you’ll need a hundred more of you canon fodder to beat me.” He leads them on a wild goose chase throughout the city. He gets hurt, of course he does; they’re going for the kill and, just like with Kimblee, Ed is still going for the mercy blows. People see this. Officers notice. Something, again, stirs.  Greedling gets the stones, recruits the chimeras, and blows that base to kingdom come.  They’ve been destabilizing the military for awhile now, and Wrath has been unable to help in the preparations for the Promised Day because his main job is keeping the military afloat; without the military, the whole plan crumbles.  People rally, calling for officers to be discharged. For Bradley to resign or explain himself. There are riots in the streets and abuse against high ranking military officers by civilians. Ed becomes the face of a revolution. With all this focus on him, Mustang and his team can act a bit more freely, despite being separated. Laws are almost absently passed or remade or taken down entirely. Winry is giving poor people automail those people turn around and help others; they all realize that the military should not have abandoned them, that they have to help each other, and they are all angry and begin planning attacks of their own. Greedling makes several bases of their own, full of “minions” (hungry children and lab experiments and amputees and those with disfigurements. A home for the homeless. A war base and safe place for the oppressed.) and with the focus on Ed, manages to launch attacks of his own. Greed has been alive for centuries, although he has forgotten much of it, and Ling grew up in politics with assassins and war, they fight the government like they were born to do it. 

It’s a civil war; unlike in Liore, it is no longer one sided. The civilians fight their dictator, military officials fight from within the system. 

This is all I have for it, so far. It’s very ramble-y but vgadhbjnfk I refuse to believe that for about 6 months Greedling and co. sat around and goofed off like Ed has a saving people thing and Greed is antsy and wants (to know) things and Ling wants power and he wants it now. Ed is like pure chaos in a five-foot bundle like you can’t tell me he sat around and didn’t even try to do what he could from the outside?? He is a literal genius smh

Also, you might have noticed that I mentioned the Ishvallans a lot and that’s because there needs to be more about and with them. The manga/anime does handle it pretty well but there is so much potential that isn’t used. Also I am a culture-nerd and love learning about different religions and cultures and architecture so I need this ok???

[hardyimagines]

Part 1 — Sunrise

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Can I request Alfie helping his wife who has postpartum depression thx that would mean a lot. ❤️❤️❤️ — ?

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The porcelain vase on the oak table had been knocked over hours ago. The loose legs had been wrecklessly slammed into by Cyril’s body when he came bounding excitedly down the hall and toward the kitchen. The surface of the pottery was cracked and the water that usually fed the plant was now spread along the wooden floorboards, staining the soft floor a much darker color. You were on the floor, beside the vase, where you’d been laying for a couple of hours. Your body was very sore and had been for a while, but you couldn’t find it in you to move. You didn’t have the energy. The pottery had no real meaning. It was just a piece of furniture you’d purchased two years ago and yet, you couldn’t help but cry. Everything seemed to weigh you down lately. The smallest thing sent you into an eruption of tears or a fit of uncontrollable anger. Alfie preferred the tears. That’s what he’d said ever since you’d became so irritable two months ago. Your red cheek pushed more firmly into the floorboards, body curling up tighter on the uncomfortable ground as the hot tears dried, leaving your cheeks with a sticky texture.

Three months ago you’d given birth to a little girl. Her name was Arena and she was the light of your life. Though, her birth had been the hardest and most painful thing you’d ever had to go through, she was well worth it. The clock in the corner struck nine and even though Arena was fast asleep in the cream-colored bassinet that was situated beside the old, worn sofa, you couldn’t find it in you to get any sleep. You were restless and almost every night since her birth you were rewarded with maybe an hour of slumber before you’d toss and turn and then lay awake, counting down the minutes until the sun would rise and Alfie would leave you home alone with the child. Your child. Insomnia was always something you’d feared since you were little. The inability and difficult to sleep was enraging and you already felt enough anger, you didn’t need a lack of sleep to further your frustrations. Your heavy eyes drooped shut, but despite the need and want to doze off at least for a few minutes, sleep didn’t come. You were just a woman, laying on the floor in a puddle of tears and spilled water.

The door to the house was nudged open and Cyril’s protective infused bark rung out. He stood in the corridor, paws squared and head lowered as his dark, glistening eyes roamed the door as it opened to reveal none other than his father. Alfie kept his voice quiet as he hushed the animal. “Ease up, lad, right, it’s only me. Mum’s probably sleeping with the baby, yeah? Hush now.” His large hand traced Cyril’s head repeatedly, scratching his fur sweetly as he greeted him. “What’ve you been up to, mh?” You listened to the man coo. You wanted to push yourself up off the floor, hide the fact that you’d been wallowing on the floor in a puddle for hours, but you were still. The heavy thud of the man’s old laced boots filled the house. Despite the scuff of his shoes and the noises Cyril let loose a few moments ago, Arena remained sound asleep. Alfie undid the the first few buttons on the top of his shirt and began to haul the fabric open and off of his body as he moved along the soft carpet and toward the living room. Coming home was his favorite. He’d play with Arena for a little while and then he’d console you. He wasn’t sure why you were so moody lately, but he didn’t complain, he was sure it had to do something with the fact that you’d given birth to a baby and your hormones were all over the place. The doctor had warned the two of you about some sort of depression mother’s have a possibility of experiencing, but Alfie had been so captivated by his daughter, he hadn’t really been listening. He regretted that now.

The man entered the living room a few moments later and the second he did, he noticed you. “Y/N-“ The word dripped with worry and you had no time to lift your head before he was knelt beside you. His large hand found the curve of your hip, palm pressing against the silk material of your red dress. “Pet, what are you doing on the floor?” His concerned words were a mere whisper as he spoke. You stared up at him, wet eyelashes fluttering before you gave a soft moan and tried to bury yourself into the ground, attempting to vanish from his wondering eyes. “Just leave me be, Alfie.” The man arched a brow. “That’s gonna happen.” He muttered a bit harshly before drawing your little body in closer to his own. His knees, you knew, were probably aching from his position as he kneeled over your form. “Come on then, yeah, let’s get you on the sofa, right?” He was already beginning to push his arms beneath your body, but when he saw your eyes, pooling with unshed tears once more, he drew back. “What’s wrong?” He pushed on, trying to get to the root of the problem. There was no issue. The vase had fallen so you cried like a baby. For hours. You couldn’t help it. “Nothing.” You practically whined. The man shifted slowly. He tried to be understanding. “Alright.” You set your watchful eyes on him as he lowered his body down and got comfy directly beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist and before you could complain or question him, he pulled you securely into his chest, cuddling you. You’d married the sweetest man on the entire planet. Alfie held you against his chest and you knew he’d lay on the floor for days if that’s what you needed. Your small hand slid up to his cheek, cupping it. “You’re gonna hurt your back, Alfie.” You began to sit up, the sleeves of your dress falling off of the curved edge of your shoulder. Alfie fixed it smoothly. His warm fingertips grazed the soft skin of your arm, dragging the little noodle strap back up and into its proper position. “I don’t care.” He finally spoke. “Right, a little back pain with go away, yeah, I need to know what the fuck’s happening to my wife. What are you feeling, pet?” Your eyes closed, head falling south to hide your expression from him as it saddened further. Him, asking if you were okay, only seemed to upset you further! You didn’t know why.

The second you sucked in a sharp breath to vanquish the sob that attempted to escape, a little cry sounded from the corner of the room. It was a small sound, a little whine for attention, and then it began. The cry that made you want to rip out your hair sometimes. You knew it was normal to be stressed and agitated because you were sleep deprived, but at times, you found yourself rocking Arena, crying alongside her, neither of you planning on stopping anytime soon. Your hand lifted to your head and as you began to lift yourself off the floor to tend to your daughter, Alfie halted you. “I’ve got her, pet, yeah? Go lay down, get some sort of rest that’s not on the fucking floor, right?” You whimpered. Another rush of tears threatened to fall, but now because of how grateful you were to have a man like Alfie. He could be ignorant. He could tell you to stop being a cry baby. He could tell you all your mood swings are getting on his nerves and he can’t handle them. And yet, your husband did none of those things. His hands slid to your shoulders, shaking you from your thoughts when he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. His boots sounded and you were mesmerized when that noise, alone, silenced Arena. She knew when her father was around and she was always so good for him. Alfie leaned over the bassinet and lifted the baby from her bed. “Hello, my love.” You listened to your husband whisper. His beard would soon be trapped between her tightly closed fist and she’d tug and tug and tug until Alfie would bellow for you to help him out. It didn’t hurt, he claimed, but you figured it had to. Sometimes, with the way he yelled, you thought he’d been stabbed or shot or something along the lines of a life-threatening situation, but then you’d turn the corner to find Alfie hunched over, stuck with his head in her crib because she’d grabbed ahold of his hair. “Are you hungry, dove? Yeah? Daddy’s gonna give you-“ you shifted. “I want to breastfeed her.” You whispered, silencing your husband.

The man craned his neck, lips parted since he’d been in the middle of his sentence. Turning toward you slowly, he adjusted the babbling baby. Arena was the most smiley child you’d ever seen, she was a little ball of happiness and although, yes, she did cry, you really didn’t think it was as often as other babies. “Give me her.” You spoke softly, extending your arms. Alfie shifted, making no movement to pass her over just yet. “You get yourself fucking situated, yeah, and then I’ll hand her to you.” A small scoff left your lips. “Alfie. You are not staying in the room again. Last time you were staring my breasts down entirely too hard and you tried to grab one!“ The man straightened defensively. “You’re my wife. If you’ve got your fucking tit out, right, I’m gonna stare and they’re a bit difficult to resist touching, yeah?” You cocked a brow. “I don’t get what men like about breasts.” You muttered under your breath before lowering yourself down on the sofa and slumping back against the cushion. “Keep your hands off.” You warned him as he approached. Staring, you guessed, you could handle, simply because it was your husband, but touching you didn’t like. You were sore and achey and his hands didn’t do much other than irritate you. Alfie nodded his head before settling down on the couch beside you. Watching intently as you dragged the strap of your gown down and along your shoulder, he watched the silk dangle off of your arm. You drew the top half of your gown off so it pooled around your waist. Alfie let a low grunt leave his throat, a sound of extreme approval.

Arena was set in your awaiting arms. Her little head was situated in the crook of your elbow, head wiggling briefly as she got comfy. You stared down at her, teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh of your slightly chapped lower lip. “God, she’s beautiful.” You mumbled, releasing a breath you weren’t aware you’d been holding. Alfie lifted his eyes away from the little girl to your face. “She’s the spitting image of her mother.” Your head rolled to the side, a lazy smile playing on your lips. “Hush.” You muttered to the man, though you leaned in and kissed him sweetly. You sensed, when he tried to deepen the kiss, he was going to lift his hand and cradle your breast, so you drew back and looked south to Arena. “Come on, munchkin.” Alfie helped you adjust the baby, ensuring her head, even though she could hold it upright, was held protectively. The child’s lips moved forward and the second she began suckling on your nipple, you winced lightly at the discomfort but it didn’t last for too long. Turning your head toward your husband who was practically drooling at the sight of your exposed breast, you lifted your hand and gently pushed at his cheek. “Alfie..” you giggled breathily, eyes rolling at the man’s gaze before you looked down at your daughter. Brushing her hair back, you smoothed down her tresses of brown hair. It was straight, but curled at the ends, reminding you of your hair when you’d been her age. “They’re so much bigger.” Alfie grunted before lifting his eyes to yours when you looked to him again. “What?” Your brows furrowed, adjusting the child once more before you found a new, comfier position. “Your chest-“ He ushered to you with his finger, pointing to each of your breasts. “They’ve grown, much bigger.” Your lips twitched at the corners before you squinted. “Has he?” You retorted. Your hand was in the midst of patting Arena’s back gently as you fed her, pinky sticking out toward his crotch. Alfie gave you a look of confusion before looking to his lap with a light grin. “Fucking hell, could you imagine, yeah, if he did get bigger, each time we had a kid?” You tilted your head to the side, chin on your shoulder as you smiled toward Alfie. He was very much a child still in many different ways. “How many kids do you want exactly?” The question left your lips before you could really stop it, but you realized you shouldn’t be afraid to ask him. “Six.” He grumbled, arms folding across his chest. “Lots and lots of Solomons’.” He shifted, sliding slowly closer to you. “How many do you want?” Your face was contorted in a look of shock from his words. “My god, Alfie, I’m not sure I can give you six. I was hardly able to give you one.” The man lifted a brow before moving his hand to the back of your head. Pulling you gently forward, he kissed your head. “Sh. You did an amazing job, yeah, you fucking did, right, I wouldn’t have been able to do what you did.” Staring down at the miracle who was still hungrily feasting, Alfie set his free hand on your knee, tracing it lazily as he ogled his daughter.

“Alfie.” You whispered quietly. You hadn’t answered his question about how many children you wanted. You didn’t know the answer. But you didn’t really want to discuss an amount. If a pregnancy happened, then it was meant to happen. Right now, you wanted to be truthful with how you felt right now. You needed to get through this rough patch before more babies were created and six was kind of pushing it. “I’m really.. sad lately.” You confessed, watching his features flicker from admiration to worry when he shifted his gaze from the child to you. “What? Why?” He instantly assumed this was something he could fix. Something he could make better. You shook your head. “I think my hormones are just...” You motioned your hand around the air, signaling that your hormones were everywhere. It was impossible to explain how you felt to him. Anxious, sad, and angry seemed to be the main feelings you felt, but just voicing that was enough to piss you off. The man at your side scratched his hair coated jaw, fingertip creating a quiet bristling noise from the action. “It’s normal, ain’t it, yeah? That’s what them doctors said?” You let your gaze linger slightly before averting your eyes to the child as she began to fuss. Adjusting her, you smoothed down her dark-colored locks, before drawing her away from your chest. Sitting the baby up on your lap, you cooed quietly so her cries were silenced. Positioning her small head on your palm, you cupped her chin and cheeks gently, using your free hand to steady her back as you began to pat it. Alfie watched you burp the little girl before he slouched backward, shoulders dropping and forearms spreading along the backs of the cushions as he waited for a response from you. “Yeah, it’s normal.” You whispered. “I think.”

The man’s focus was glued on you. His curiosity reflected in his eyes, shimmering visibly before he cleared his throat. “What was that fucking thing, yeah, about depression? Right, the doctor said, right, he did, didn’t he? That this was a fucking possibility.” Your head tipped to the side, a lazy smile briefly gracing your lips when little burps of relief escaped Arena. “I don’t want to make assumptions Alfie, for all I know I could just be moody, I don’t want to call it depression.” The man grumbled under his breath at your words before slowly leaning forward. He positioned his elbows on his knees, blue eyes piercing yours when they locked on to one another. “I’ll be home more, yeah, stay here instead of fucking going to work all day, everyday.” You handed your baby to Alfie before standing. Pulling the sleeve of your dress back on, you smoothed the material down before heaving a gentle sigh. “I don’t want you skipping out on work just because I’m-“ Alfie growled lowly. “Too late, pet, right, I’m here now so you’ll have to drag me to the fucking bakery if you, yeah, you want me to go.” Leaning over to lift one of Arena’s fallen toys, you tucked the stuffed animal away on the mantle before pursing your lips at Alfie’s words. “I’m not complaining and I definitely don’t want you to go.” You spoke softly, voice a hushed whisper. It reminded Alfie of the tone you used when you would rock Arena to sleep. “Good.”

Alfie looked a bit funny as he stood, but also very handsome.. He was so large. His broad shoulders and strong arms cradled Arena as if she were a priceless jewel that needed to be protected at all costs. Your lashes fluttered before you diverted your eyes and left the room. A sudden feeling of sadness washed through you. The cause was unknown. Your cheeks felt hot and you could feel a bubble of rage forming in your belly. Maybe you were angry because of how attractive your husband was? You squinted down at the table. Or maybe you were frustrated because of how much you loved Alfie. Whatever the reason was, your agitation merely heightened when the man followed you into the kitchen. Arena was tucked away in her bassinet, eyes growing droopier and droopier. Alfie would be glad when she hit the age where she’d be more interactive. Lately, the only tasks there were were feed her, change her diaper, burp her, then she slept. His arms were empty now and, as usual, Arena was probably half-way to unconscious. She fell asleep so quickly and so easily. You envied her. Rotating slightly so your husband couldn’t see your features, you moaned breathily when his fingers grazed your arm. “I just need to be alone for a minute, Alfie.” You pleaded, eyes low. Your orbs ran along the cracked tabletop, head tilting backward when you didn’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps. The man looked like a wounded animal and guilt suddenly made itself present within the flood of emotions you felt. You were always alone. And even when he was home, you’d eventually request to be alone again. You lifted yourself up and away from the table before curling your arms around Alfie’s neck. “I’m sorry.” You sighed gently. “Come here.” He obediently stepped closer to you, arms wounding around your small body so the pair of you molded into one. His comforting scent eased your scrambled mind slightly, so you drew him in even closer, allowing a breathy whimper of want to escape your throat. Alfie was unsure what you wanted, but he tightened his arms around you, in hopes that he could and would eventually figure it out. Your nose grazed his neck before you burrowed your face into his throat, humming as you inhaled. “I love you, Alfie.” Your words were a little surprising, but very welcomed. “I love you, Y/N.” He didn’t miss a beat when replying. Your mouth grazed his collarbone, pressing lazy kisses against his warm skin. “Now then,” he brushed his lips over your ear. “Go lay down, yeah, and I’ll get the bassinet, right, and meet you up there. You can’t be laying around on the fucking floor, right, you’re going to be stiff and aching, pet.” You smiled slowly at his words, unmoving from his embrace for a few moments. Inhaling deeply, you nodded. “Okay.” Skipping out of his arms, your barefeet brushed along the cold floor as you moved out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward your bedroom.

Alfie smoothed his hair down, brushing the messy, lengthy locks out of his face. Making his way back into the living room, he pressed his palms into his lower back, searching for some sort of relief. He didn’t ask you to rub his back anymore because he didn’t want to add stress. You needed sleep. The man prepped himself for carrying his slumbering baby as she slept peacefully in her bassinet. He curled his fingers around the handle before gently and smoothly hoisting the cradle up. Maneuvering around the coffee table, he held the white bed to his chest, holding it as if it were only Arena. He climbed the staircase in a non-rushed manner, taking his time to reach the top. His movements hardly shook the baby’s head. She remained sleeping. The hallway seemed longer than usual as a searing pain formed at the bottom of his spine. For a second he thought he’d lost his grip on the crib, but when he’d realized it was a possibility, he moved quicker. The door to the bedroom as practically thrown open and when Alfie set the bassinet on the stand in the corner, you eyed him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” Dropping your hands from your ear where you’d been in the midst of removing the silver earring, you stepped toward your husband. His features were twisted into a look of pain and discomfort. “Alfie?” He grumbled an incoherent response, but you were sure it was just him trying and failing to assure you he was alright. “Honey, is it your back.” Your fingers lifted to trace his spine, running along the length of it with a fairy light touch. You could see the enjoyment shimmering in his eyes, though he didn’t voice that he wanted you to continue. You offered anyway. “Lay down, Alfie.” Before he could say much, you left the room and made your way to the bathroom.

Multiple bottles of lotions were crammed inside the cabinet. Liquid ran down the sides of almost every bottle, dried and crusted, glued to the containers. You lifted a vanilla scented one, smirking to yourself. Though Alfie would never confess to his employees that the sweet smell they asked him about everyday was, in fact, from the lotion you rubbed on his body, you knew he loved it. Time and time again, he told the men the smell was on his jacket and it lingered from you, embracing him that morning, but it was his little secret that the smell was actually staining his back. And he loved every second of it. The little whiffs he got throughout the day simply reminded him of you, straddling the backs of his thighs as your fingers sunk into the strained muscles. Alfie grumbled from his position in the bedroom, pulling you from your thoughts. You moved down the hall and into the bedroom to find him slumped on his belly. One hand rested beneath his head and the other was thrown out to the side carelessly. He’d removed his shirt, so his muscular back was on show. You bit your lip gently before stepping forward. Lifting a knee, you planted it on either side of his body before straddling the backs of his upper thighs. Shaking the white bottle you clutched in your fist, you poured some of the cool substance on to his back, allowing it to drip along his spine. His skin was hot beneath your ready fingers, tips sinking into his flesh to begin rubbing his tense spine. “You don’t have to rub for long, yeah, I know you’re fucking tired, don’t I?” Alfie muttered gruffly into the sheet beneath him. You smiled fondly at his words, each one laced with obvious approval. You leaned over him, casting a shadow along the length of his body so you could kiss the back of his head. “Hush now,” you whispered softly. “I’m not complaining.” Your hands slid along the smoothie surface of his skin. His muscles flexed instinctively if you touched a relatively sore spot, but he’d relax ever so slowly. Several little hums left his throat, followed by quiet moans when you’d shift your weight and wiggle up to sit on his bum. This made it much easier for you to focus on his tense shoulders. Though you found yourself bottling up the emotions that seemed to be drowning you, nothing in the world would ever upset you to the point where you didn’t find some ounce of happiness in Alfie Solomons. His smile, his voice, his personality, his words, him. Him. No matter what, he would always be your rock and he would always pull you out of the darkness you seemed to be blanketed by. Your toes pushed further into the mattress, knees sinking as well as you knelt up. “Where do you want me to focus, baby?” Alfie lifted a brow at the petname. Rarely did you refer to him as that, but when you did, he felt very vulnerable. He liked it. “My lower back, please, pet, ‘s fucking killing me.” You gave a gentle nod before beginning to knead the bottom of his spine. Your fists pressed into the faint dimples, rubbing them thoroughly. A sickening crack filled the room when you pressed with the flat of your palms against his spine, but the groan he let free assured you it felt very, very good. You smiled slowly, allowing your hands and body to shuffled along his body. You were sitting back on his thighs. “How about your ass, is it sore?” Before he could reply verbally, your grabby hands moved to his ass, wasting no time before you rubbed his cheeks with a grin. Alfie growled lowly, lifting his hips so he could wiggle. “Right, come on, minx. Move it along.” His eyes opened and he craned his neck so he could peer at you. “My leg, dove, yeah?” Alfie enjoyed every bit of teasing. He especially loved when it involved you touching him in places you wouldn’t dare to in public. Or rather shouldn’t dare to, but that never stopped you. Your hands moved away from the yummy skin hidden beneath his slacks and travelled south to his thigh. “Left or right?” You asked quietly. “Right.” He answered instantly.

The dark trousers he wore weren’t thick enough to prevent your husband from feeling anything. Your hands sunk into his thigh, rubbing the entirety of it. He flexed now and again when you’d hit a sensitive area, but you’d quickly ease up and he would re-direct you to the same place, ensuring you the pain was good. It only took ten minutes to rub his leg and when the entire room, practically, smelt like vanilla, you questioned if it was alright for you to stop. Alfie was half-asleep, drowning in the ecstasy you’d caused. You had a way with your hands. He wasn’t surprised at all. The lotion bottle was nudged to the floor when you slid off of your husband. Your body collapsed beside his own and he wasted no time before crawling after you. “Thank you.” He grumbled, his warm lips and hot breaths heating your skin simultaneously. “Mh, you know I love massaging you.” You tilted your head, whispered words dancing through his hair as your fingers traced his shoulder. “Are you sleepy?” You inquired, though you could already feel his heavy breaths deepening further. Alfie mumbled something incoherently, but since you hadn’t heard, you merely smiled. “Goodnight..” you smiled lazily.

—————

Sleep came and went every few hours. Alfie slept soundlessly, wrapped around you like a monkey. The clock in the corner ticked rhythmatically and around two am, you found it impossible to go back to sleep. Your small hand lifted to your head, rubbing the heavy thing before you unwound your husband’s arms from your body and slid off the mattress. “Again?” He grumbled tiredly. You jumped at his voice, so deep and sudden, it surprised you. “Jesus-“ you laid your hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. “How long have you been up!” The man nuzzled the warmth leftover from where you’d been laying. “Woke up when you started moving around.” He confessed before rolling over and on to his back. You watched him curiously before wrapping your arms around yourself. “Well, go back to sleep, mh? You’ll be exhausted in the morning if you don’t.” The baby in the corner began to shift, rolling around to find a comfortable spot as her parents voices began to wake her. Alfie sat up slowly, eyeing you. “You know better than anyone I ain’t getting any sleep without you laying beside me, yeah?” Alfie’s voice was stuffed with exhaustion. It was gruff and deep and you couldn’t resist practically scrambling back on to the mattress. “I can’t get any rest.” You mumbled, fingertip tracing the tattoos that stained his skin. Your ear twitched as his beard skimmed the sensitive flesh. “I can tire you out.” He offered. Your head rolled back so you could peer at him, warm eyes glistening with a playfulness. “You can try.” You hadn’t had the urge to do anything physical with Alfie other than cuddle him or kiss him, so, since he’d offered, you figured you’d take him up on it. Leaning up, you crawled on top of his large body. His hands found their favorite place on your waist, fingertips tracing the silky red outfit you wore. It took no time at all for you to dip your head and kiss him eagerly. His mouth opened within seconds, urging you to deepen the kiss. You let out a soft moan, smirking at this very familiar position. Your hips pushed into his own, dragging along them slowly as you began to grind, creating a delicious friction.

Arena clenched her eyes shut before lifting her arms in a silent stretch. Her little legs kicked, trying to alert someone that she was awake. Gurgling softly, she wiggled one more, head hardly lifting from its position before she began to whimper in frustration. You halted on top of your husband. “Come on, dove, she doesn’t know what’s going on, yeah, she can’t see.” You fixed Alfie with a look of shock. Slapping his arm, you slid off his body and crept toward Arena to see if she was awake. Alfie let a low growl escape his throat, hand lifting to rub down his beard. “She doesn’t know, Alfie, but it’s not right to do that when she’s in her bassinet in the corner of the room.” Alfie sighed before sitting up. You could see the disappointment swimming in his eyes though he didn’t voice it. “Honey, I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Almost as soon as Arena caught sight of your bedhead, she began to scream, crying out for you to pick her up and hold her because she was tired of laying in her bassinet. You arched a brow at her outburst. Stepping closer, your features twisted into a look of mild disgust. “Oh- that ones yours.” You looked to your husband. “You’re on diaper duty at night, remember, I do it every day.” The man clenched his jaw before moving his gaze toward the crying baby. “Fucking hell, woman, right,” he slid off the bed. “I can’t change her fucking diaper can I? I really can’t, pet, I’ll get awfully nauseous.” He muttered as he approached, knowing you weren’t going to let him off the hook. “Yes, But I do it every day, it won’t kill you to do it once a night or every two.” You sighed before rubbing down your face. “Please, Alfie?”

The man swore inwardly. ‘Please, Alfie.’ Always seemed to get him. You watched the man, lean over to retrieve his daughter. Her crying was silenced, though her legs didn’t cease their kicking. He cradled her as best as he could before leaving the room. He moved down the hall and into her room. It was pink and white. A long shelf resides on the corner above her crib, painted pink with little white carvings Alfie had added. Her closet doors folded open and closed, little white rectangular shapes that resembled blinds. The man laid his daughter down on the designated changing table. The blanket she was laid on was pink and each time he changed a diaper, he made a mess. You followed silently after him, hovering in the opened doorway. You watched the muscles in his back flex visibly as he moved. Arena was no longer crying and her red face had returned to its usual color. The child grinned up at her dad as he began to undo the sticky sides of her diaper. You grinned lazily as you watched the man’s features twist into a look of disapproval when he turned his head to the side and away from his daughter. You brushed your hands down on your dress before stepping into the room. The moonlight poured in through the window, shining down on your brightly. You were illuminated by the white glow. Alfie was mesmerized, fingers twitching before he slowly began to clean your babygirl. “How do you expect to have six babies, Alfie, if you can’t change a single diaper.” Your tone was soft, but accusing. The man, too distracted by how beautiful you were, lowered his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to respond but he felt, suddenly, like he wanted to impress you. You watched, intrigued, as he began to remove the diaper smoothly. He used only two wipes to clean her up, making sure not to hurt her by wiping too hard. He lifted her little hips with her legs before gliding a fresh diaper beneath her. You smiled warmly, hand lifting to press against the door. “You’re a professional!” You exclaimed, stepping into the room so you could give him a rewarding kiss. Arena watched the pair of you for a second before she began to whine for attention again. “Hey-“ You looked away from your husband and down at your little girl. “You may be a daddy’s girl, but he’s mine.” You told the child, tickling her belly so your actions matched your teasing tone.

Alfie smiled slowly at your words before leaning over to pick up the beauty. “Alright.” He sighed, cradling Arena. “I’ll bet she’s hungry again.” Alfie said a bit too eagerly. You fixed the man with a pointed look. “Oh, is she?” You laid your hands on your hips, squinting at him. The man nodded eagerly. “Mh, you’d better take her to the bedroom and feed her.” Before you could really say anything, he handed the little girl to you and bolted toward the bedroom. You were married to an absolute child

—————

It was twelve in the afternoon when your bleary eyes finally opened. The sunlight bounced off the walls, shining brightly as it surrounded the entire room. It was possible to hear the faint laughter Arena let free from downstairs and Alfie’s booming, playful, voice. Cyril was barking and you found no urge to go back to sleep. You wanted to join your family. The bed creaked quietly beneath you and the second you stood, you frowned. Alfie hadn’t woken you. You sat back down. Maybe he didn’t want you down there while he was playing with your daughter. A swarm of sadness and overthinking began to fill each and every thought you had. Your head tipped back, frown evident. It was twelve. Why did he let you sleep for so long? How had you even slept for so long? There was a loud shatter. “Fucking hell, Cyril! Your mother, yeah, she’s gonna have your fucking head, boy, go!” You heard your husband shout. Arena watched her dad as he leaned down to clean up the second broken vase. It wasn’t the animal’s fault he got so excited when his little sister would laugh.

The floorboards creaked quietly as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Lifting yourself off of the mattress once more, you made your way toward the black robe in the corner. The satin wrapped around you securely as you tied it shut, leaving a little bow directly at the front in the center. Emerging from the bedroom, you made your way down the hall, coming to a stop at the top of the steps. You could hear Alfie speaking quietly, his voice very soft and.. a bit flirty in your opinion. He was using his sweet voice. Folding your arms, you moved even quieter down the flight of stairs. Arena was laying on her belly on a yellow hand-stitched blanket on the floor and Cyril was licking her face, eagerly walking in circles around her small form. He was the best big brother. Alfie grunted, hand placed on the counter as he lowered his voice further. You turned the corner, accusing eyes darkening further when you saw his close proximity with some woman. She was wearing a wide grin and he was wearing a similar one. “What the hell is this?” You arched a brow, staring at the pair of them. Alfie cleared his throat before taking a small step back. “Y/N.” He grinned, unaware of your initial assumption. “This is our new neighbor, Rose.” You clenched your jaw before shifting. “And why are you standing so close to her?” You pressed on. The man frowned gently, his dark brows furrowing. “I’m sorry?” He set his hand flatter on the counter, staring down at you. “You don’t need to practically stand on top of her to talk to her.” Alfie lifted his hand to the back of his neck before looking to Rose. “You can go, yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow.” The woman, very eager to leave, happily slipped by the two of you, stepped over Arena, and rushed from the house.

“Call her?” You frowned deeply. “Why?” The gangster grunted. “You don’t need to know.” He slipped by you and you instantly grabbed his arm. Halting him, you turned. “Are-“ You couldn’t get the words out. Was he being unfaithful? Banging the next door neighbor? Was this their first time meeting? She seemed to already know Alfie, so you- “No.” He said simply, as if he could hear the raging thoughts in your head. “I’m a happily married man, I don’t even look at other women.” Your lips twitched, easing your grip on his arm. “I know.” You whispered, guilt embracing you. “I just thought,” Alfie had every right to be upset, but when he cut you off, he caught you off guard. “I’d never.” He whispered. “Alright, pet?” Stepping toward you, his large hands lifted to your cheeks, cradling them. “Was only being friendly, dove.” You felt the anger in your belly simply grow though his words were meant to ease your worries.

Rose wasn’t a neighbor. Alfie had hired her a week ago to help him plan something special for you. He wanted to make you happy again and he’d never known anybody with any form of depression before so he was doing his best. Saying Rose was a new neighbor was only to throw you off and he’d been standing so close because he hadn’t want you to wake up and hear of his plans to surprise you. Rose wasn’t his type and even if she were, he only had eyes for you.

“It doesn’t..” you sighed gently. You didn’t have the energy to fight. Waking up to something so negative just put you further down. Frowning softly, you distanced yourself from Alfie. Your body felt heavy with discomfort and frustration. Turning on your heel, you made your way up the stairs and back to the bedroom so you could lock yourself away until the stinging in your chest subsided. The bed welcomed you, but you found no comfort without Alfie. Nuzzling into your pillow, you sighed breathily. One minute things are fine, the next you feel as if the entire world hates you.

Alfie looked toward Arena. She was gurgling and sucking on a little green rattle. Leaning down, he lifted the baby smoothly. “Lets go cheer mommy up, yeah, she’s not feeling too good, is she?” As he spoke, his feet clapped against the floor. He climbed the stairs with determination. He wasnt going to let these hormones keep you from being happy. He’d do whatever he could to help you. The floorboards moaned beneath his weight and the wooden door creaked as the hinges curved, opening. “Pet?” The man spoke softly, his warm voice filling the room. “I’m sorry, yeah, I didn’t mean to fucking upset you, did I. Wasn’t thinking, right, I was standing too close.” The man’s apology only angered your further. Why was he being so kind and apologetic? You moaned, burying your face further into the cloth of your pillow. “Just drop it, Alfie.” You begged, words muffled from the material. Alfie sighed before slowly setting Arena down beside you. “Could I have a good morning kiss?” Your husband requested.

The bed creaked beneath your weight as you rolled over to face him. Pushing your messy hair out of your eyes, you stared up at him with a gentle frown before briefly looking to his waiting lips. Your hand curled in the front of his shirt so you could guide his mouth to yours. Pressing the softest kiss to his lips, you rolled away, eliciting a grunt from him. “Right.” He set Arena down on the bed beside you. “What’s the matter then?“ He kept a close eye on Arena as she crawled along the bed, situated between the wall and your slumped body so she couldn’t fall. Alfie leaned over you and placed his hands on either side of your head. You sighed breathily, pinned between him and the cool bed. Your tired eyes slid between his own, growing watery beneath his curious stare. “I don’t know.” You whispered before turning your head away, lip quivering. “I just.. I feel so angry and sad all the time.” Your chest shook with your shaky inhale and Alfie wanted to absorb the feelings that wouldn’t leave you alone. The mattress sunk beneath Alfie’s added weight as he slid on to the bed as well. His knees rested on both sides of your hips, squeezing you gently before he went to roll off of you so he could instead spoon you. At his sudden actions you, unaware of what he was doing, locked your arms around his neck in a vice to prevent him from moving any further and drew him in and flat against you. “Hold me, Alfie.” You pleaded quietly. The man rested barely any weight on you as he cuddled your small form. He was a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t budge. He’d stay like this all day if you needed. Arena slapped her father’s shoulder before climbing close and maneuvering herself so that the pair of you held her too. “Things will get better.” Alfie spoke softly against your ear, his warm breaths tickling your sensitive skin. His words held a silent promise as he ran his fingers along your arm lazily. He stayed like that through several moments of silence before he heaved a gentle sigh. His back was growing stiff and a sharp pain was making itself known. He knelt up when the pain was reaching unbearable. He peered down at your sleepy looking features. “Alright, dove.” Sliding off of the bed, the man adjusted his shirt before pushing his hair out of his face. “I’ll be back soon, alright? I’m going to run out and gets some food, yeah?” You tilted your head to one side before nodding gently. “Mhm.” Your arm hooked around your babygirl, pulling her in close for a cuddle, your nose brushed her sweet-scented forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit then.” An internal voice warned you that Alfie was sneaking out to see Rose, when in reality he was going to set up the events for later on today. He was going to cheer you up. He knew he couldn’t just cure depression, but surely he could put a pretty smile on the beautiful face. You shut your eyes and rolled toward the wall, ignoring the twitch of your lips when Alfie kissed the back of your head. If it weren’t for the small voice in your head, telling you that your husband could very well be being unfaithful, you’d relish in the fact that you were the luckiest woman in the world to have such an amazing husband.

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Tagged: @thatsamegirl @peakyhoegh @ihclipse @callisen @hardygal69 @centerhabit @favouritereadings @goodiesintheclosetlove @buckypetal15 @kitcatimpala67 @captstefanbrandt @meer0rauschen @crldrr

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Sorry for any typos my loves! I’m trying to update it but it isn’t working for me right now because I’m in the car, but I’ll re-read through it and change anything when I’ve got better WiFi?? Haha idk, but I hope you enjoy it and I hope I didn’t butcher this!!!

[beaflower77]

Lottie Leben

Everything looked gray. The stalls were gray, the streets were gray. The tiny houses dotting the landscape looked gray. Tiny gray puddles filled the dirty streets and the sky didn’t seem any happier with streams of gray clouds loitering above. They walked the streets looking, peering in one stall after another. Nothing new they saw, needed or wanted.

Passing by one stall, a lighter shade of gray, and almost getting out of range, “My lords!,” he called out. “Soap! Soap for your lovely wives! Your mistresses?” His hands shot out toward them, he smiled as if he knew, jesting. “Ribbons! Trinkets!,” he advertised, trying to strike a deal. They stopped, said nothing, wandered over to inspect, pick up, sniffed the bars of soap. They weren’t that impressive of soaps. “No finer soap my Lords. Made from the fat of exotic beasts of the wild, infused with bluebell flowers and other tiny fragrances.” His eyes blinked as he said it. The bars were gray blue, made from barilla and marsh plants, boiled down in cast iron pots. Theirs’ were made from olive oil instead. Still, these were fluffy to the touch.

While Elrohir listened to the stall keepers’ nonsense, Elladan noticed a tiny waif of a child sitting on a rickety stool, keeping to herself. Her knees bent up and enveloped inside her arms, trying to keep warm from the impending weather. And sniffling occasionally, blowing her nose on a hankie. Walking round the stall, bending, kneeling before her, “What is the matter child?,” asked Elladan, searching her face out, for something touched at his heart. “Why are you crying?” So pretty, the child thought, mesmerized she stopped all sniveling at once. So pretty was Elladan, so handsome, so engaging, the child would have taken hold round his neck, told him anything, let alone jumped, smiled, spun round and danced for his delight alone. Instead, “My mama is gone.,” she whispered secretely. Elladan watched her. He whispered back, he pressed, “Where did she go?”  “She died.,” the little babe replied. His breath stopped. Her sorrow, Elladan saw beneath her dirty blonde hair and understood that sorrow. His mother too was gone, and did not seem to be returning anytime soon. 

And then he noticed a sack on the ground by the girls feet. “Why is that sack wiggling my sweet?,” he questioned. The girl’s features lit up a tiny bit. He called me My Sweet, she imagined in her head, but, “We have to throw it in the river.,” the girl sadly, but plainly replied, for she accepted her father’s fact. “Throw, what?,” continued Elladan, although he already had an inkling what it might be. “It cannot see.,” she continued. “Its’ eyeballs don’t work right anymore.”  A drop of anger rose up inside, not even knowing what couldn’t see.

Glancing up at Elrohir, watching the man at the stall, Elladan untied, pulled out the blind object, wanting to see for himself. Inspecting closer, looking cleverly at the little girl, Elladan gave a secretive smile, whispering again, “Would you like me to take this little creature for you?,” he begged. “I will keep it safe. I will take it where no harm shall come to it. Ever. It will grow sturdy and fat and become strong. Even if it cannot see.,” and he waited her permission. Lottie smiled, “Yes.”

Again her eyes lit up, becoming saucers. Smiling, the little waif wanted desperately to put her arms round Elladan’s neck, but something held her back. Her father. The man looked down upon them both. It wasn’t he was angry, or sad, just empty.  “Unfortunately that cat will never survive Master Elf.,” he said to Elladan. “It was born that way. It will do no good to keep it. I’ve already told Lottie and she accepts its’ fate. That is the fate of us in the world sometimes. Not everything or everyone is kind to you.” Standing, looking from the little girl, to the kitten, addressing the man, “If you do not want it, you will not object me keeping it. I will take it off your hands. You will not have any responsibility for it and I will never concern you over it. Ever.”  Lottie knew elves kept their word. She heard so from her mother once, but she couldn’t remember when. She wanted the little kitty to become fattened and live. She thought of all the good, tasty foods it would eat. And inside she purred. She had already given it a name in secret. 

“Now.,” gave Elladan. “Where is the child’s mother?” He wanted to know. Elladan wanted to see what the stall keeper would answer, and he wanted to be prepared for what he would do, given the correct answer, one which he wanted desperately to hear. Elrohir watching his brother, wondered himself what Elladan was playing at. And why. And just what were they to do with a blind cat themselves? Elrohir breathed in deeply, gave an unseen grimace.

Looking at Elladan, then at Lottie, and back again, “This is not my child, my Lord.,” the stall keeper told him. “Lottie was my wife’s child. My wife died last month.” Elladan and Elrohir both watched for any signs of a lie, or tall tale.” “After my wife died, we have been traveling from market square to market square trying to maintain a living. But it is very hard my Lord to feed not only myself, but the child as well. It is not, an easy living.” He added, “And we cannot keep an animal that will not be productive.” Lottie had fed the kitten some of her food in secret. That is all Elladan needed to hear. And accept. And his mind spun with all types of riddles, reasons and thoughts. Customers pulled the man away from the elves’ attentiveness. 

“What are you thinking brother?,” Elrohir asked, prodding Elladan a ways off out of earshot. They walked a few feet away from the stall. Elrohir put a hand on Elladan’s tunic, stopping him from wandering further. The girl watched her little blind kitten being taken away by the tall, pretty, sweet elf. And she wished upon an invisible star. What did she wish for? Was it the same as the elf? She watched him intently. Wanting to run after her elf, instead she stayed still and watched the blind kitten slumbering, pawing against Elladan’s chest. Would her baby kitty live? Would he want to know its’ name?

Taking a long, deep breath, he considered. “I am thinking.,” Elladan replied. “I am thinking, this child does not belong to this man. Not really.” Elrohir shocked his brother had this thought, waited, puzzled. Elladan considered his next thought carefully. “She would be better...,” and he couldn’t continue his thought, not just yet. Elrohir looked strangely at his brother. “Elladan, surely she must have some other relative or relation some where? What are you proposing to do? Take her away? And what are we to do with this?,” he indicated to the sleeping kitten. “She has no one Elrohir. I fear if this man would be so callous to throw a blind creature into water and let it drown, what would stop him from letting her starve to death?” And the two continued their dialogue, Elrohir not exactly as convinced as his brother. However, Elrohir loved Elladan.

“Then it is settled? That is what we will do?,” Elrohir asked his brother, though he already knew Elladan’s mind. “It is settled. Let us now see what this man will say to it all.” And they once more stepped up to the gray stall. Lottie remained on her stool, her feet minutely touching the dirty, puddled ground, and pulled her fingers through her hair to fix it for Elladan, her elf she believed. Twirling it round and round, Lottie pulled each knotted strand apart.

How young these little women were when they become so vain, they fixate on themselves, Elrohir wondered. And why not he continued. Do we not teach our elflings to comb and keep tidy? Well, he considered, except for Faelor and Galearon that is. Elrohir looked down upon Lottie and smiled shyly, wondering what she would make of it. And they introduced their wants of Lottie’s sudden adoption to the stall keeper.

“My Lords.,” the stall keeper said evenly. “How could I even do such a thing?” He was bewildered. On the one hand, his problems, his difficulties would semi be over. No more would he have to scrounge and procure food for the both of them. Only himself. No guilt there, if he was still hungry. A roof over her head, especially on cold and wet nights? It was not always easy. Buying cloths to sew clothes for her as she grew? He was not so dexterous with that. So little money he made. His finger often grew numb. Could he find himself succumbing to those reasonings? However, on the other hand, could he do such a thing? Give up, give away. Yes, Lottie was not his child, not really, he had no obligation to her. And she would have a better life he believed. He looked at the elves. And considered.

“She has no other relation you said.,” Elladan pressed. “Yes, but.,” he replied, feeling slightly caught. “You could see her whenever you wished. We would not keep her from you. Only provide her with better accommodation.,” Elrohir put in. Lottie listened, she listened intently. She didn’t understand, but yet she did. “Lottie.,” her father said. “I love you, I do, but I cannot always adequately provide for you. Or myself. We have so little to eat, you and I. So little income.” The stall keeper looked down upon this little creature. He considered. She considered. The kitten slept on. Elladan was dead set. Elrohir, well, he would follow his brother. 

Reaching down, grabbing hold and lifting up, “No. No my Lords.,” the stall keeper gave the elves. “Lottie is my responsibility and I will provide for her as best I can.” And he added, “You may see her as you like. I am sure she would enjoy that.,” and he bounced her on his hip, smiling at Lottie. Elladan’s chest tightened, there was something about this little one his heart clung to. He touched Lottie’s check. “Farewell little Lottie. I will take care of this sprite of a cat. Do not fear for it”, he smiled with not only his mouth, but his eyes as well, as he lifted the blind, gray tiger up. “He will live well.” Turning to the father, “I will visit Lottie, whenever I can. We will look for you both in the towns.” He and Elrohir nodded off to the two and left.

Elladan and Elrohir did visit with Lottie and her father. They saw them often. They told her stories of the elves, traded trinkets and goods, kept them well stocked with food after having found a small, livable, bright hovel of a house for them. And when Lottie grew older and fell in love with the miller’s son, well, Elladan knew she would still be well taken care of and not want. And still he visited. Still to Lottie’s delight.

But what did become of the little blind, gray tabby?

[lostinfic]

Nubivagant 2/3

(adj.) wandering through or amongst the clouds; moving through air; from the Latin nubes (“cloud”) and vagant (“wandering”), c. 1656.

Summary: Based on the movie “A walk in the clouds” but on a sheep farm in the north of England, at Christmas. During the war, Betty ran away from her grandfather’s farm with a man. Now that he’s left her and she might be pregnant, Betty must go back and face the family she abandoned. When Colonel Mercier finds her crying at the train station, he offers to pose as her husband. Tags: Hurt/comfort! fake married! sharing a bed! huddling for warmth! and many more! Pairing: Jean-François Mercier x Betty Vates  Word count: 5400 Rating: Mature Warning: pregnancy scare

A/N: For @timepetalsprompts adoption drive

Part 1  |   Ao3

December 23rd 1945

As soon as Betty woke up, she checked the floor beside her: no makeshift bed, no khaki duffle bag, no Frenchman.

She supposed she ought to be happy he’d stuck to the plan. Of course, he would. A man of his word.

Betty rose slowly, expecting a bout of morning sickness. She waited but nothing happened. Still, she remained sat on the bed, staring in the middle distance with bleary eyes.

Even if she didn’t know him from Adam, Jean-François was on her side, unquestionably, and that had given her strength. Now she was alone again. “Well, not quite.” She rubbed her stomach tenderly. She should visit the village’s midwife, but it scared her to know for sure. Right now, she could entertain either possibility depending on her mood.

As she bit her nails, something glinted on her finger: Jean-François’ signet ring. “Oh bugger, I forgot to give it back to him. I don’t even have his address.” Maybe someone in London, from their office, had it. She would send the ring, and he would reply with a thank you note, ask how she’d been, and maybe— No.

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she walked to the window. Plumes of frost framed the landscape. A patchwork of lands, in greens and yellows, with dry stone walls and shrubs in lieu of stitches.

The morning was grey, in the distance the Howgill Fells slept, mellow curves, covered in moorland pastures as smooth as velvet, and dusted with snow. At their feet, in the gorge, fog slithered above the river and the trees.

Movement on the right caught her eye. Grandpa Marshall walking out of the shed with Jean-François behind him, carrying tools. Her heart skipped a beat. “What the heck?”

She found some clothes in a trunk, and hastily pulled wool socks up to her knees and slipped a wool jumper over an old floral dress, then rushed down the stairs.

Her mother, Sarah, was in the kitchen, washing the dishes at the big enamel sink. She didn’t look at Betty when she said, “Is it your French gentleman giving your airs and graces, or have you forgotten what time we wake up on this farm?”

Betty stopped dead in her tracks. “I’m sorry, I overslept. In London—”

“There’s a basket by the door, gather the eggs.”

War and the death of her husband had affected Sarah, she looked so much older than when Betty had last seen her, her shoulders hunched, grey streaked her hair and wrinkles etched worry lines on her forehead and mouth. Despite her mother’s coldness, a protective sort of affection rose in Betty’s chest. “Mam… I— I never meant to hurt you by leaving.”

Sarah finally looked at her, her silence was unbearable. At last, almost reluctantly, she opened her arms.

After two years of fear and guilt in London, after her heartache, if felt good to be held by her mother. Sarah rubbed her back in broad, soothing circles. “I missed you too. I was so worried about you. You’re lucky it worked out well. I thought he’d leave you at the first chance.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know…” And that was the thing with her mother— the thing Betty hadn’t missed— she couldn’t tell if this “you know” referred to men’s flighty nature or her daughter’s unlikeable character.

When they stepped away from each other, her mother was misty eyed. She patted Betty’s cheek and returned to her dishes.

Betty put on wellies and a scarf and exited the house. Being up north like this and cloudy, the temperature was cooler than London, the absence of wind kept it comfortable.

Jean-François was hard at work, sawing planks. Wood chips dusted his chic tweed trousers and olive jumper. A curly fringe fell on his forehead as he bent to hold the plank, working the saw harder. He was stronger than he looked, she realized.

“Hello wife.”

“Is that the best pet name you can come up with?” she teased.

“Darling? Sweetheart?”

“How about ‘light of my life’ or ‘my queen’?” she joked.

He pretended to consider it, then looked her up and down. “Ma belle?”

She buried her nose in her scarf to hide a blush. “Oh, em, yeah that— that will do. Why are you still here?”

“I’m sorry, but when I tried to slip out this morning, your grandfather was already in the kitchen. He asked me to help him fix the fence.”

“Oh, no. You’re stuck here another day.”

“It’s okay. I can leave tomorrow.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yes. It gives me more time to smooth things over.”

“Is he any nicer to you, at least?”

“Is he ever nice to anyone?”

She smiled sadly. “He was to me. Before. I was his favourite of the grandchildren.”

Grandpa Marshall had high hopes for her. All his daughters had married men who’d sought work in the factories, and they’d moved to the city. He worried no one would take over the farm, but then Betty had showed such a keen interest, a natural understanding of plants and animals. He had it all figured out that she would marry Donald (the son of his best friend who also owned a farm in Tebay) and he’d bequeath them his land. It was always implied that she had to marry— if not Donald, at least another farmer— to inherit the farm as if she couldn’t be more than a farmer’s wife.

Betty had gone on a few dates with Donald before he received his called-up papers. He was a nice enough boy, if a bit boring, and it might have worked out hadn’t she met Craze. She wondered if she still had a chance with him, boring might not be so bad after all.

Her grandfather pushed a wheelbarrow up the path, carrying more wood for Jean-François to saw.

“Did Homer break the fence again?” Betty asked, referring to a ram with a bad character.

“Homer’s dead. We ate him last winter,” he replied curtly. “Stop dawdling, John, we’ve more work to do.”

Betty and Jean-François exchanged a resigned look. “John?” she mouthed. He shrugged.

A flutter of feathers and cackles welcomed her inside the coop. Some eggs had frozen overnight, the shell cracked from the yolk expanding, the others were still warm. She hadn’t eaten such fresh eggs in too long, she hoped her family would let her eat breakfast today. Her mouth watered at the thought of Marnie’s pancakes and sausages. Before leaving, she added fresh straw to keep the hens warm and cozy.

She brought the eggs back inside the house, her sister was in the kitchen now. She wore a scarf to hide her dark hair roots. “Did you check their feed?” she asked.

“Er, no.”

“Well get back there, fill the water buckets whilst you’re a it, give ‘em a good scrub before. And Marnie needs help with the laundry.”

“I’m on it.”

“I hope your husband’s not snoring, he took advantage enough of this farm last time.”

“He’s real sorry, Margie. Really.” She wondered if she could have said as much about Craze. “S’like he explained last night, he didn’t have a choice. He’s working with Gramps now. Working hard. He’s a good man, he is.” Her voice rose with passion. If only she could explain all Jean-François was putting up with just to help some girl he barely knew.

“What kind of good man takes a daughter away from her family?” Grandpa Marshall said, walking in at that moment.

“But he brought me back.”

He grumbled something busied himself filling his pipe, Margaret averted her gaze. Betty went back outside, the least she could do right now was prove she was helpful on the farm.

She hauled bags of food over her shoulder, fed the chickens and the rabbits, scrubbed grass stains off clothes and hung them to dry. The wind chafed her cheeks, and her fingers went numb with cold as she scrubbed the animal’s tin water buckets. Her stomach growled with hunger, but she ignored it, vigorously swiping hay with a pitchfork. Hercules, the dog, followed her around, watching with his head cocked. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine,” she told the dog.

“Sure, ‘cause talking to a dog is a sign of sanity,” Margaret said, walking into the barn. “That’s enough, soon you’ll be digging through the ground.”

Betty rested her arms on the tip of the pitchfork, panting.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Margaret said. “You’re my sister and I love you…”

“But?”

“You don’t know what it was like after you left. Gramps went to the post office twice a day, in case you’d sent a letter or a telegram. Grandma made the sign of the cross every time we heard of bombing victims. You broke their hearts. And Mam, well, she’s not doing any better and you left me alone to take care of her.”

“I know. I keep thinkin how different things would be if my letter had reached you.”

“It wouldn’t’ve changed the fact that you ran away. Why did you do that?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You keep saying that. I’m worried there’s something you’re not telling us. That he made you do something.”

Betty bit her tongue, fighting, again, the urge to defend Jean-François. “I was so in love with him...” She held her sister’s gaze, willing her to understand. Margaret was no stranger to the effects of attraction.

“Well, if you still do love him, he could use a cuppa. He’s not gonna catch a break any time soon with Gramps.” They walked out of the barn together, and Margaret added, “He’s not me type exactly, but I can see why you fell for him. Bit too posh, but nice bum.” The sisters giggled, and, for a moment, it felt like they had never been apart.

Their laughter attracted Jean-François’ attention. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and waved at them. Warmth bloomed on Betty’s cheeks.

Oh goodness, get a hold of yourself.

She followed her sister’s advice, and prepared tea. She liked to put a dash of milk at the bottom of the mugs, and let them warm up on the stove, until the kettle boiled.

She joined Jean-François outside. “You look like you could a thé as you French say.”

“Tout à fait.” He put down the sledgehammer, and they sat on bales of hay.

“You don’t have to work so hard,” Betty said. “You don’t have to do anything really.”

“I’m repaying Craze’s debt.” He took a sip of tea and sighed in contentment, a little cloud on his breath. “I’m enjoying myself actually.”

“You are?”

“I spent the last four years in London thinking, analysing, planning… always in my head.” Before today, she had only ever seen him in uniform or suits, usually walking briskly down a hall or shouting at someone, always tensed, but now he looked relaxed. “It feels good to work with my body, surrounded by nature,” he concluded.

They looked at the horizon, at the land sloping gently towards the mountains. A hare hopped across the field. In London, one can never see that far ahead without a building or black smoke blocking the view. All this space. She felt like she could draw in more oxygen. And here, no coal dust polluted the air. Every breath was cleansing.

With each rise and fall of her ribcage, her bones and muscles ached from exertion. A rewarding sort of ache, not the sore feet and neck pain of office work, but a reminder of a job well done. She would sleep well tonight.

Beside the bleating of sheep, all was silent, and flurries drifted lazily from the sky to melt on the ground. The softest sky she had ever seen. A cashmere sky, all pale gradients of blue and pink. No sun in sight. A feeling of peace swept over her.

She leaned sideways, towards Jean-François, her body unconsciously pulled to him. She caught herself before her head touched his shoulder, and straightened her back.

“Is it a river over there?” he asked.

“Yeah, river Lune in the Lune valley.”

“Lune?”

“It’s a Roman word, supposed to mean clean and pure.”

“Lune means moon in French. Valley of the moon.”

“That’s nice. With the fog sometimes, it looks like the sky is on the ground.”

“Heaven on earth,” he commented.

“Well, except for the smell of manure.”

He laughed and tugged her into a one-arm hug that made her heart stutter. “Your family’s watching, ma belle,” he whispered against her hair. Of course, that’s why he’d hugged her. Marnie, Margaret and Sarah were at the kitchen window, observing them without a hint of subtlety.

She allowed herself five more seconds of hug before asking him to help her feed the sheep.

As they neared the pen, she told him about the history of the farm, her great-grandparent and how much bigger the herd used to be before the war, she went on to talk about shearing in the spring and auctions in the square. “They love oat mixed with molasses, and— sorry, I’m babbling. Dunno why I’m telling you all that.”

“No, I think it’s interesting.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know. Do they have names?”

“Yeah… Me favourite’s Violet. That’s the one over there. She’s a bit shy.” She called its name, and the ewe approached slowly. “I used to feed her apart from the others ’cause her brothers and sisters ate everything. She couldn’t make room for herself.” Through the fence, Betty scratched Violet behind the ears. “Ain’t that right, Vivi? You’re a good girl. Oh yes, you are.” Jean-François squatted down to pet its head too, and their fingers brushed together.

Betty and Jean-François grabbed pouches of feed and slipped inside the pen. She’d forgotten the strength of a herd. The females were all pregnant and in full wool, weighing over 200 pounds. The rams were even bigger. Huge balls of wet wool shoving and pushing as Betty wedged herself between them to reach the manger. Like an undertow, the animals carried Betty and Jean-François. Both were in stitches, holding each other’s hand for stability as the sheep pushed them every which way, hungry and impatient. Betty dropped the bag of grain and grasped Jean-François’ sweater. Excited by the food, a ram knocked Betty in the shins and she toppled over. Jean-François shouted her name, threw away his bag and hauled her up by the underarms. He carried her over his shoulder away from the herd.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I’ll have bruises, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” He placed a hand on her belly, and she instantly pushed it away. “I’ll help you to the house,” he insisted.

“I’m fine,” she said coldly. “I’ve fallen before, I can take care of meself.”

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“Yes you can. That’s what you’re here for.” She ran away from him.

*

After the incident with the sheep, Betty was nowhere to be found. Mercier suspected Marnie knew something, but she kept her mouth shut. And although he knew more than one way to make someone talk, he’d rather not use them on this lovely elderly lady.

To be honest, it upset him that Betty had dragged him all the way to Tebay, but rebuffed him when he tried to help. He thought they were getting along well, but it could be she was only being polite and didn’t like that he’d stayed one more day.

Mr. Mashall declared the work completed, and they headed back inside. Before supper, Mercier showered, shaved and dressed up, and was unsettled to find that no one else had bothered to do as much. He felt the judgement in their gazes, then a “fancy-schmancy” was mumbled. Still, he kept his jacket and tie on, it’s how he’d been brought up, proper guest etiquette.

Betty came back just as Mrs. Vates pulled a pot out of the oven, but he couldn’t ask where she’d been in front of the whole family.

He stood up to pull out a chair for her, she glanced at it and pretended to have to wash her hands. He followed her to the bathroom. “Can’t I pee alone?” She slammed the door in his face. When she came back, she sat away from him. He talked to her, but she barely said one word back.

For a reason Mercier had yet to understand, Eric chose politics as a discussion topic. Mr. Marshall quickly joined in, and they expressed unfounded opinions on anyone and everyone from the American president to the Japanese soldiers, not sparing French or Poles along the way.

Betty’s agreement with some of their statements surprised him. She should know better after working closely with the Polish resistance organisation during the war. But he noticed her hands tucked under her legs, her pinched lips and tight nods. Mercier, however, had less patience with ignorance and prejudices, and, after suffering Mr. Marshall’s bad mood all day, he didn’t hold his tongue for long. He launched into a impassioned monologue about the French people’s resilience, and the courage of the Résistance. Betty stared daggers at him, but he didn’t stop arguing with the other men.

“Enough politics or there’ll be no dessert,” Marnie declared. Silence fell on the room, only the sound on cutlery on plates disturbed it.

“Guess who’s pregnant,” Margaret said. Betty gasped, and Mercier groaned inwardly. “Lil’ Suzy MacEwan.”

“Suzy? She’s married?” Marnie said.

Margaret snorted loudly. “No, she ain’t! Won’t say who the father is. Thank goodness that didn’t happen to you, Betty, eh?”

“We thought it might have,” Eric said.

“But I says to him, she’s smarter than that our Betty. Didn’t I, Eric?”

“Yeah, Margie, but you also said—”

“Shu’ up.”

Betty stood up swiftly, knocking her chair over, and stomped away. The door banged behind her, and she disappeared into the darkness. Mercier rolled his eyes at her immature reaction. How did she expect to get back in her family’s good graces? He kept eating. He’d worked all day and he was hungry.

“So,” said Marnie, “are you gonna go after your wife or not?”

Mercier put on his coat and scarf, and lighted a storm lamp. He had no idea where she could be. He roamed the property, but his heart wasn’t into it. If she wanted to sulk and act like a child, so be it. She wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway. He searched for her in every outbuilding on the large estate, calling her name.

The wind picked up, and worry crept up his spine. What if there was something wrong with her pregnancy? Or worse. He’d heard of what some women do in desperate situations. His throat constricted, his mouth went dry, with every minute that passed without finding her, he imagined worse and worse scenarios. He quickened his steps, called her name louder. She wasn’t on the farm.

Then he remembered she’d found Craze in an abandoned shed. He ran to the edge of the forest. Shouted her name. No sign of her on the west side. He crossed to the east, heart hammering in his chest. Branches whipped his face, but he didn’t care. Between two oaks, he spotted a small stone building with holes in the thatch roof and half a door. Inside, Betty paced the small space, biting her fingertips. He let out a woosh of relief. “What are you doing here?”

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“I couldn’t well leave my wife—”

“I’m not your wife.”

“No, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

She continued pacing. The wind howled and whistled through every crack of the shed. She crossed her arms, rubbing herself for warmth. She’d left without a jacket.

He didn’t ask her to go back inside or offer his coat, for fear she might push him away. As long as he stood there, in silence, she tolerated his presence. Mercier leaned against the door and fought with several matches against gusts of air to lit a cigarette. When the fourth one went out, he cursed under his breath and gave up, knocking his head back with an impatient sigh.

“This is where I found him,” Betty said at last. “The first time I saw him, he was curled in on himself in a corner. He hadn’t shaved in weeks. He looked like a bear hibernating…” That fond little smile annoyed him more than he cared to admit. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. She levelled his gaze, eyes full of defiance. “I don’t regret it, you know. Sure, he was a tosser in the end, and maybe he didn’t love me as much as he said he did, but he wanted me. Me. And he showed me— other things. And I went to London and I got a job, and I did it well, I did it all on me own!” Her voice broke and she looked down at her feet. Her teeth clattered from the cold. “Oh, gimme your bleedin’ coat, I know you want to do it.” He draped the trench coat over her shoulders. She tucked it under her bum and sat on the ground, arms around her knees.

She looked so vulnerable like that, his annoyance melted away. He racked his brain for something to say. “I’m certain you will be able to take care of this child, with or without your family’s support.”

She didn’t say anything, but absentmindedly twisted his ring around her finger. Through holes in the roof, snowflakes fell and twinkled in shafts of moonlight. He pulled up his collar, and his sleeves over his hands. After some hesitation, he sat down beside her, knees up too, and placed the storm lamp at their feet for warmth.

“I’m not pregnant. I went to see the midwife this afternoon. Something to do with weight loss and nerves. Says it’s been happening to a lot of women.”

“That’s a good news. You must be relieved.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She sighed and scooted closer to him. An inch of snow had accumulated in front of the door. Cold seeped through the stitches of his jumper. She didn’t seem ready to leave, so he stayed.

“You don’t look relieved.”

“I never asked, did you have children with your wife?”

“No. We wanted to, but Annemarie’s health was too fragile.”

A gust of wind chilled his spine, and it was his turn to move closer. His bum was growing numb.

As she picked at her pilling jumper, Betty said, “I guess, since I started thinking I might be in the family way, despite everything, it made me a bit happy. I’d imagine taking care of a little bairn… Gave me some hope.”

It pained him to hear that. “Don’t you have hope anymore?”

“Maybe hope’s not the right word. I just meant it was something to be, in the future. I’d be a mother. Now I don’t know what I’ll be.”

“You could get another job?”

She scoffed. “D’you really think they’ll let women keep working now men are coming back?… I’d love that, though. Now I’ll just be the girl who ran off. The girl her husband left on Christmas Eve.”

“It does seem unnecessarily cruel.”

“Makes me more pitiful. I couldn’t keep you from Christmas with your family, anyway.”

He didn’t argue, instead scanned the forest outside. Strong gusts of wind made the trees creak ominously. His jaw ached from suppressing teeth clattering. “We should go before it gets worse.”

“It’ll pass soon,” she said. In an attempt to share the coat with him, she ended up with her arms around his waist. He slipped an arm under the coat, around her shoulders, and they held each other with some awkwardness.

“Is this okay?” he asked. “Are you warmer?”

“Yeah, warmer. Ta.” She kept glancing up at him. “I’ve told you all my problems. You can tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I told you my estate was destroyed… it wasn’t just the buildings. I don’t think I have any family left in France. Maybe some distant cousins. My sister and her husband are still in the United States. Everyone else in Boutillon is—” His throat closed around the words. He knew, from agent’s reports and newspapers, the state France was in, but seeing it with his own eyes that would be something else entirely. If he was being honest, his offer to come here with her was not entirely selfless, but an attempt to delay the inevitable. “It would not be a happy Christmas,” he summed up.

Betty shivered, so he held her closer, resting his cheek atop her head. Her hair smelled like grass and cold. Her breath warmed his chest. They should really leave this place, head back to the house, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“You could stay one more day,” Betty said.

“Are you sure?”

“If you want to. You wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve. It wouldn’t change anything to our plan. ”

“It might even make it better,” he said, although he couldn’t explain how.

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“I will need gifts for your family.”

“I have some, you can add your name.”

“I’m not sure your grandfather deserves one.” She burrowed further into his arms, and he caressed her hair.

“He’ll come around,” she whispered.

Betty slipped her frozen fingers under his sweater. The cold reached the marrow of his bones, but it seemed worse outside. When they both yawned, Betty reacted. “Oh no, we really have to move. Come.”

Through the blizzard, the house’s lights shined dimly. Holding hands, they ran, wrestled against the gale. Margaret and Eric came out of the house with big blankets to help them cross the last feet.

They were ushered in front of the fireplace, buried under more blankets and offered mugs of steaming tea spiked with whiskey. Eric threw another log in the fire. They removed their shoes and socks to soak their feet in hot water, his skin tingled and itched as it heated up.

“Betty, you’ve got to stop running away,” Marnie chided her gently.

“Where’s Gramps?”

Marnie pressed her thin lips in a sad smile. “You have to understand, he lost his precious little girl.”

“But I’m back now. I was only gone two years.”

“But you’re not a little girl anymore.” Marnie glanced at Jean-François, and, for the first time, he sensed blame from her. His honour rebelled against it— it was Craze, not me, I’d never— but he clenched his fists and kept his mouth shut.

“Your place is here,” Marnie added.

“Is it?” Betty asked. “Do you really want me here? The way I am, not the way they want me to be.”

“Yes, sweetheart, but I think we need to get to know the woman you’ve become. Listen, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, we’ll make my special mince pies. Together, okay? I love you.” Marnie kissed Betty’s forehead and left the living room.

“There’s hope,” Mercier said, and she smiled at him.

He wished he could huddle with Betty again, but they were two separate bundles of blankets. She looked at him over her mug, something shy in her eyes, nose and cheeks still pink, and he wondered if she wished the same thing.

With Margaret, Eric and Mrs. Vates, they listened to Paul Temple, a popular private detective show on the radio. But Mercier didn’t pay attention to the plot, he thought of the first time he’d seen Betty, at the Poles’ HQ in Dorset Square, those chestnut curls and plump lips, her eagerness to help the officers. When his Polish counterparts had invited him to the pub at the end of that day, he’d accepted hoping she’d be there.

One by one, the family members went to bed, and Mercier stayed behind, watching the last glowing embers in the hearth.

“You’re still here, John,” said Mr. Marshall, and Mercier worried he was onto their subterfuge. It would explain his hostility.

“Yes. I am.” Mercier stood up, hands on his hips.

Mr. Marshall’s eyes flashed with contempt as he lit his pipe. “Don’t do that, using your height, that’s a cheap trick. Might work on me granddaughter—”

“Why can’t you be nice to her? Hate me all you want, but don’t hate her. She’s kind and strong, and I didn’t take any of that away from her.”

“But you did take something away from her.”

Was this whole quarrel about her virginity?

“Dunno what she did in London,” Mr. Marshall continued, “but she ain’t the same. She’s lying to me, I can tell. And she’s sad. You took away her joy.”

The accusation hit Mercier right in the stomach. Not me, he wanted to claim again. “Well, you’re making her even sadder,” Mercier replied.

Mr. Marshall huffed, but there was a flicker of pain in his eyes. “If it wasn’t for me wife, I’d’ve chased your stinky arse all the way back to France with me rifle, I would.” He turned on his heels and left the room with a puff of pipe smoke.

To be hated by her family was all part of their strategy. He doubted staying one more day would do any good. He had better put an end to this, once he left, they would rally around Betty and bound over their hatred of the husband who left her.

When Mercier entered the bedroom, Betty was standing in front of a tiny mirror, rubbing homemade lotion on her face to soothe the effects of the cold. If she’d heard him arguing with her grandfather, she made no mention of it.

Mercier undressed and piled blankets and pillows on the floor. The sheepskins looked like clouds against the chipped blue paint of the floorboards. Valley of the moon. Heaven on earth.

“What if your grandfather comes up here again?”

“Oh, right, yeah, maybe… maybe you should lie down with me. Just for a wee bit.”

“Yes, just a little while. Just in case.”

They turned down the blankets together and lay down as far apart as the mattress allowed. Mercier’s limbs were stiff, and he was uncomfortably aware of his breathing. Aware, too, of his desire. Her turned on his side, one arm under his head. She emulated him. Although he couldn’t she her face in the dark, only the vague shape of her silhouetted by the starlit window, he liked to think she was smiling at him.

“If I ever meet Craze,” he said, “may I punch him on behalf of your family?”

She giggled but a yawn stifled her laugh. “You’d make your ancestors proud,” she mumbled sleepily.

“What?”

“Knights. You’re my knight.” And that made up for all the undue blame he’d received today.

Betty fell asleep quickly. In her slumber, she shifted around, closing the gap between their bodies. Her cold toes sought the warmth of his legs.

After some inner debating, he put an arm around her. Lightly. Resisting the urge to pull her closer. Under his hand, through the cotton nightgown, he could feel her ribs, and it made him want to feed her all the foie gras, chocolate truffles, wine and croissants she could ever want.

It was unlikely Mr. Marshall would come up the stairs tonight, and Mercier had said he would only stay in her bed for a little while. That little while was well over now. He called upon the strength of the knighthood in his blood and carefully disentangled himself from Betty to return to his place on the floor.

More than ever, he knew he had to leave the next morning. There would be no train on the 25th, and the more time he spent with her, the harder it became to walk away.

Mercier didn’t sleep, he stared at the ceiling, debating the pros and cons of leaving right now. He felt responsible for her, but it wasn’t his place to be. Every time he looked at Betty, at the soft rise and fall of her chest under the sheet, his resolve crumbled, which further proved his point that he should go before the line between pretence and reality became too muddled.

Around 4am, he stood up, as silently as possible, and put on his clothes with a heavy heart.

“You said one more day.” With her mussy hair, and her nightgown sliding off one shoulder, and those big brown eyes staring at him, Mercier knew, then, he would never refuse Elizabeth Vates anything.

Part 3

[carasueachterberg]

I said you wouldn’t hear from me while I am on ‘sabbatical’ in Virginia, but apparently, that isn’t true.

I came here to hike and work on our future home and write and read the stacks of books I brought with me; I didn’t come here to rescue animals. I planned to scrub and build and repair and plant, but instead, I find myself once again, up to my neck in rescuing animals.

The (insert expletive of your choice) man who lived here before us left us his cat. Plus the handful of feral cats he’d been feeding (and a bear that stops by in the mornings in search of whatever the cats didn’t eat).

There was nearly a month between when he moved out and we arrived. Contrary to what many people think, cats can’t always fend for themselves. At least not all of them, and not very well. We noticed a few cats on our previous visit but assumed they’d move along when their food source was gone. Worst case, I’d trap them and get them altered.

By the time we arrived for our extended time here, three of the four cats were mere skeletons. The tiny male orange cat was in the worst shape. All his bones protruded, he moved slowly and looked to be in a daze. His coat was rough and stained and you could see giant ticks hanging like a collection of jelly beans around his neck.

The brown tabby cat who had looked fairly healthy the first time we saw her now looked at us with dull green eyes, scratched at the door, mewling pitifully. Her ears were torn, her coat neglected, her limp belly sagging on a bony frame.

  I watched them for two days. I didn’t feed them – everyone said, “Don’t feed them, they’ll become dependent.”

We won’t be living here fulltime. We will come down as often as we can to continue to renovate the long-neglected cabin, but not often enough to feed these cats regularly. And eventually, we plan to rent the cabin to people and their dogs, so resident cats are truly not in the long-range plans.

But the cats were starving and dehydrated and probably anemic from fleas and ticks. I set out a bowl of water for Flannery on the porch and they flocked to it and drank it dry. There is a creek about a quarter-mile away, but the little stream that cuts through our property is dry this time of year.

I watched them for another day and then couldn’t bear it. “They’re starving to death,” I told Nick. “I can’t just watch.” My cat-allergic husband said nothing because he knows me.

I fed the cats. They couldn’t eat much at first. The little orange boy swatted at the food in frustration. He was too weak. So I went to the store and bought Capstar, a med that makes all the fleas and ticks fall right off – it doesn’t prevent them from coming back though, so I also bought Frontline. I shoved pills down the throats of the two cats who became our hesitant, jumpy friends. I can’t touch and rarely even see the other two.

The brown cat seems to be the mama of the two orange cats, who look like adolescents. We named her Molly Weasley (our cats are Harry Potter characters) and she began to fill out quickly and spends her days waiting at the door for us to let her in (which we don’t). She was obviously the (insert expletive of your choice) man’s former house cat. She and Flannery are bonding. She looks better already, and I will likely take her home with me.

The tiny orange boy kitty (Ian named him Fred Weasley) only looks marginally better. He’s moving better and leaped off the second story porch when Flannery sniffed him. Despite me shoving a pill down his throat the first time he let me touch him, he is hanging around. He seems to know we mean well.

The tiny orange girl kitty (Ginny Weasley) is keeping her distance. She comes to eat when we are not outside, but is still too frightened and we rarely see her.

The big gray tomcat is the only one who seems to be able to take care of himself. He is not starving like the others and only shows up on occasion, never climbs the post to the second story porch where the other cats eat. I don’t know that he’s a tom, I’ve just decided that he is. He doesn’t have a name yet because I haven’t seen him in a week.

I don’t want four cats. But something has to be done. I will only be here another week and a half.

I called the local animal control officer who told me that they ‘don’t deal with cats unless they’re injured’ which seemed an odd response. These cats look pretty injured to me, but he suggested I contact the Warren County Humane Society. So, I did.

And yes, they do have a TNR (Trap-Neuter-Release) program, but it’s out of money for the year, and also, they don’t accept strays. They could help me out with their ‘low-cost’ program ($90 per cat for spay plus rabies shot) if I come in and paid in advance and then brought the cats on the designated morning at 7 am and picked them up that night at 8pm.

But what then? I bring the cats back here and release them to starve to death?

There have been many times when I am asked—what about cats? Do you get involved in cat rescue? I always say, “I totally get that the cat crises eclipses the dog problem, but I can’t go there. Not yet.”

The way I see it is that we domesticated dogs and they cannot survive without us. Cats, on the other hand, have a few more resources.

But these four, at least three of them, well, they don’t seem to know how to use those resources.

And while I don’t want to be a cat rescuer, I don’t see that I have a choice here. I will bring Molly and maybe Fred home with me, but I don’t know what to do with Ginny or Tom. I bought traps and paid for two cats to be spayed/neutered and given their rabies. The assigned day was today.

Last night I set two traps, hoping to catch Fred and Ginny. The traps have been under the porch for two weeks, ziptied open, next to the post the cats climb to access the porch. Last night I cut the zipties and placed half a can of sardines in each and hoped for the best. I said goodnight to Molly on the porch and went to bed, hoping she wouldn’t be the cat I trapped.

I got up at 5:30, after a fitfull night dreaming of trapped cats (it was always Tom, so much so that I was certain he was in the trap when I got up). Flannery and I hurried out to check the traps. They were both empty, untriggered, but the sardines were gone.

Not knowing what else to do, I put Molly in my cat carrier and dropped her off at the Humane Society to be spayed. Remembering that I was told the money I paid was nonrefundable, I asked if I could transfer the money for today’s extra spay to the next spay day (a month from now when I will need to make a special trip down here) and try again to catch one of my cats and was told, “I’ll pass this along to the powers that be and we will see.”

I’ve decided not to get angry. Yet. But I have already begun to understand why so many people don’t bother to spay and neuter their pets (or their feral friends) when it is so terribly inconvenient and expensive. I am determined to fix these cats and while I don’t want to spend this much money to do it, I’ll find a way. But what about the person who struggles to pay their own bills? Or what about the person who has to get a ride to the Humane Society or has to work or doesn’t own a trap or a hard-sided carrier or care so much if their cat impregnates another cat? Certainly, it should be easier than this.

If anyone out there is in the market for a cat, let me know. I’d be happy to deliver one to you. If I could just catch one.

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to know more about my blogs and books, visit CaraWrites.com or subscribe to my occasional e-newsletter.

If you’d like to know more about the book, Another Good Dog: One Family and Fifty Foster Dogs, visit AnotherGoodDog.org, where you can find more pictures of the dogs from the book (and some of their happily-ever-after stories), information on fostering, and what you can do right now to help shelter animals! You can also purchase a signed copy or several other items whose profits benefit shelter dogs!

If you would like to know more about the situation in our rural animal shelters in the south and the struggle to save dogs, check out my other blog, Who Will Let the Dogs Out.

If you’d like to know how you can volunteer, foster, adopt or donate with OPH, click here. And if you’d like more pictures and videos of my foster dogs past and present, be sure to join the Another Good Dog Facebook group.

I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to comment here on the blog, email carasueachterberg@gmail.com or connect with me on Facebook, twitter, or Instagram.

 Best,

Cara

Released August 2018 from Pegasus Books and available now

  I Didn't Come Here to Rescue Animals but no one told all these cats that... #spayandneuter #TNR #WarrenCounty I said you wouldn’t hear from me while I am on ‘sabbatical’ in Virginia, but apparently, that isn’t true.

[good-apollo-imburning]

Bad Memory

My parents always told me that I have a bad memory.

When I have my good days, I don’t really remember how I could possibly have bad days. I see flowers blossom so vividly, I feel his lips against mine and beam so brightly, and the way my dogs’ ears flatten and how hard their tails wag when they see me.

When I have my bad days, I don’t know how I can ever have my good days again. I can feel the cold metal against my willing flesh, the sweet and temporary release of it and the crash afterwards. The long lines on my skin, like constellations, connecting one painful night to another, except there’s nothing beautiful about this starry sky. Their shallow crevices telling me that I didn’t do my job properly.

The battlefield of mashed potatoes and gravy swimming on my plate, the way my fork seems to skirt around and the inevitable waterfall of technicolor food spewing back up, I can remember those things. The guilt afterwards. The acid that creeps up for the rest of the day. The way my gums gleam ruby red and bleed whenever I brush my teeth. I remember when I see the flashing black numbers beneath my pink toes, screaming back at me that I’m not trying hard enough. The reminder that I’m not sick enough.

I can recall the way people’s words sink into me like poison, sliding into my veins and crippling my perception and feeding my self doubt and hatred. Do people care? What do they think of me? Do I look okay? Is my hair okay? Am I too big? Is my voice too loud? Too low? Do I take up too much space? Am I enough? The slightest change of tone, the tiniest inflection, the way the syllables clash against my ear drums, I can never forget the way how every comment can be turned against me.

Am I enough?

I can remember your fingers and the way you dragged him across those hardwood floors that you worked so hard on laying down. The pride of building this masterpiece of a household and the solidity of its foundation shaken by years of alcoholism and reminders of past infidelity. These well painted walls hung with beautiful frames shattered by the punches and black eyes given to my brother as he lied and told the school that he fell. The cabinets knew the guilt I felt as I watch with wide eyes and my saltwater gaze dripped and ran as my ears rang with their screams.

“He’s a bad kid,” they told me. “He deserves it,” they told me.“ I had plenty of food in the cupboards, never had a cold night in bed, and had clothes on my back, but I crawled on my stomach and foraged like an animal for any sort of compliment from them. I believed them. "He deserves it,” I whispered as I heard him thrown about like rag doll. “He’s a bad kid.” I ate up their words as they spoon fed me this mantra.

He hated me. I don’t blame him. He was in pain. I let him drown. He stabbed me. I broke his arm. He broke my fingers. We screamed at each other like a well rehearsed recital. I don’t think either of us meant to be violent. We didn’t know better.

We didn’t know that whiskey wasn’t meant to be drank like water. We didn’t know that vodka wasn’t prescribed over the counter for a broken heart. My dad cheated on my mom when we were young. My mom had a heart attack and other ailments and was slowly withering away. Maybe her broken heart felt shattered in more ways then one. She hated him. He never forgave himself. They started dated at 13. They married at 19. They were children with adult bodies and adult expectations. It was too much. They were thrown into a world they weren’t ready for. They didn’t know better.

My brother left as soon as he turned 18. When he left, I thought that life could be normal. I thought that me, being the good child that I was, could make them happy again.

I, too, was actually a bad child.

I didn’t remember their snide comments throughout the years until my brother left, until his vacancy required me to fill it. “You should exercise more,” they would tell me when I was 8. “Are you a fucking dyke or something?” My dad asked me when I only had guy friends and wanted to sit by them during middle school orientation. “Music is a waste of time,” when I mentioned I wanted to learn the flute. I practiced so hard that my teacher thought it was natural talent. I practiced when they weren’t home because they thought it was annoying.

Was I good enough?

“You need to really cut back,” my mom would say when I took an extra slice of pizza, or when I asked for ice cream when we went out. I remember hearing her wretch after every meal, and the way her fork scraped her plate as she claimed to not be hungry after organizing her food as she did with everything in her life.

I remember the day I stopped eating. I had a plum. I was so hungry but I was tired of hearing how I wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t skinny enough, and how my very body took up too much space. I wanted to rip out every single piece of fat, lay it out and prove that I was strong and could be thin enough. It was one of the days that I had senior pictures scheduled. I felt faint, but I was in power finally.

It wasn’t enough for them. They tore into my guts and stomach and reach for my heart. They cracked open my brain and planted the seeds of mistrust and fear. She was a weaver of words. “You’ll never amount to anything.” “You’re tearing this family apart.” “Why do you think we drink?” 

I tried to be my dad’s ally, his shield for when she shrieked and threw his infidelity into his face. Her claws tore into my face and claimed that he was fucking me instead. My heart grew cold as I watched him withdraw from me and become a bystander as she continued to pry and mentally unhinge me. 

He would step in when I would push back. When my mom would slap me and kick me and I finally had enough and would push back, that’s when I would see red. His fists connecting with my temple. I saw Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. I saw the Mona Lisa’s smile on my mother’s lips as he would grab my shirt and say that no one could touch her that way. I could see every grain on those hardwood floors as I was dragged across them. 

I was so thin and in so much pain and I finally had enough. I left that household and live abroad. I thought it would make everything better, that leaving that house and pushing everything away would make everything okay. 

But my days were filled with empty eyes and stomachs, and my nights were filled with dripping beds and screams as I woke from constant nightmares. Leaving Europe and returning back to the States reminded me that I couldn’t just leave my troubles at the airport. I hoped from lover to lover, running as soon as I thought they would leave. I drank and binged and purged and cried. I think I was trying to find something to fill the void in my heart. I’m not quite sure though.

I had tried committing suicide twice by this point. The hospital wrapped me up in pills and false hopes, had listened and believed my parents, and forced me to live there while I ‘recovered’.

She would scream about how awful of a child I was, how I made her feel like shit constantly and how selfish I was to try to take my own life until I would scream and cry back. It was her plan all along, I think. At this point in my life, I was trying therapy and medication to seek relief from the demons that plagued me. I didn’t know how one could recover in that sort of environment though. My parents would claim I would have no credibility, that I was mentally unstable and who would believe me anyway? I had diagnoses that would make anyone run the opposite direction. Who would love me anyway? I still remember the stones cutting my feet open as I sprinted from the house and the way you pursued me, my screams for naught as the whole neighborhood once again turned a blind eye.

I moved out. Tried school again. Had a boy that I thought that loved me but only loved the idea of saving me. As soon as he realized that the stitches in my arms couldn’t fix my aching heart as quickly, he left. Failed school again. Drank again. Cut again, thought about suicide. Had a boy that I knew I loved but couldn’t say it. He said he loved me but didn’t know how. He left. I cried. I drank again, binged and purged until my throat was raw and I was coughing up blood. Thought about killing myself. Cycled through lovers again, like flipping through pages of a catalog. Swipe left, swipe right if I thought there was a chance. Maybe this one will like the way my eyes light up when I talk about my dog. Maybe this one will notice how I drink my coffee: iced like the way my heart felt when I realize that they just want another girl to fuck.

 Will I ever be enough?

I dated a boy who didn’t know how to love and didn’t know if he loved me. We danced around each other, almost lovers but not quite. Messy sheets and spilled secrets but never holding hands in public. His hair changed often like his decisions. My hair grew long and tangled like my heart when I realized he didn’t love me. He decided he couldn’t. I cried. I left. I decided to cut my hair and be everything I wasn’t. 

I wasn’t enough.

I dated a boy very far away from me that was fire and embers. He was dangerous and I liked that. He made my heart warm but when he lashed out, I felt his burns for weeks on end. I left. I cried. But it was okay.

I grew a bit. I moved out of my old apartment that made me feel suffocated and unappreciated. I moved in and started a relationship with a boy that was always fast paced but it felt right. At the time, he was what I needed. We were stable and safe. The winter melted into spring as we opened up our relationship and we dated a girl that was young and vibrant and beautiful. As the weather grew hot and humid I dated another boy older and quiet. As the leaves turned and grew brittle and the first snowflakes began to fall, the old boy came back and I held onto him and didn’t want to let him go. I told him I loved him finally. He said he loved me back. Life was interesting. 

The quiet boy left when I tried to ask of what troubled him. The vibrant girl grew tired of the walls I built when I was hurt by her. I had the stable boy, my rock. and I thought I had a future, a safe future with him. But we were stagnant, and within that I saw the echoes of my parents’ relationship begin to stir. We would never grow past what we already had. We agreed to separate but to remain close friends.

The old boy is still in my life and we are currently still seeing each other. I grieve the loss of my relationship with the safe boy, but I didn’t want to end up hating him. I didn’t want to end up like my parents. 

I talk to my parents occasionally. When people ask, I never refer to them in a bad light. I say they aren’t bad people, perhaps at most they just don’t know how to be parents. I don’t hate them. I feel bad for them.

I have my good days. I have my bad days. I remember bits and pieces of things. The way your hazel eyes looked at me that one summer night. The way you pressed the knife against you and said you couldn’t take it anymore. It’s fragmented and in pieces, kind of like the glasses that I break on occasion when my temper gets the best of me. My anxiety flares up and licks my mind like fire. I’m trying. I think. I think I’m trying.

I don’t know if I am enough.

I have a bad memory I guess.

[honeybellsurveys]

•́ε•̀٥

Do you have a little sister? I wish :( The last person you kissed, how many times have you cried in front of them?  Too many times to count. Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yes. Think a lot before you fall asleep? Always. Ever been the only one trying to fix a relationship? Sort of. Are you guilty of flirting too much? Nah. Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid? Yeah, once or twice. Does virginity matter to you? Not really. Do you know anybody who was abused? Yes. Have you ever bought or sold something on Facebook Marketplace? No. Do you feel uncomfortable sharing drinks with other people? Not if we are close. Is there something that happened in your past you hate talking about? Not really? Is there a difference between just love and in love? For sure. Are you good at admitting your problems? I find it hard to do. How many times have you dated the person you’re with now? Not with anyone currently. Has your cell phone ever rung in class? No, my phone is always on silent anyway. Do you ever feel like just laying down and giving up? Sometimes, but I haven't in a long time. Have you ever lied about your age? When I was younger. Lied about your name? No. Do you sit on the mattresses in furniture stores? Sometimes. Are there some topics that you aren’t very open about? It depends on the person. Have you ever had an encounter with a very dangerous animal? Yes. Have you ever fed a wild animal people food? All the time. Would you rather die or eat another human being? Lmao ya’ll gonna think I'm crazy. Do you wish that animals could talk? Why or why not? Oh my god that would actually be amazing, imagine all the knowledge you’d be able to learn and all the deep friendships you could make. Who did you last fall asleep with? Ruth Ann. Now your cell phone, what color is it? Rose gold. Who were you last in a car with? Katelynn, her bf and Angie. What color was the last vehicle you were in? Silver. Have you had “the best night of your life”?  I hope not. Toilet papered someones house? No. Who was the last person you high-fived? A girl named Amy I met downtown last weekend lmao. Do you own a romper? Yes. What does your computer’s slow-loading cursor look like? Idek. Would you rather have a trampoline or swimming pool? I have both so. What was the name of the first porcelain doll you got? Don’t remember. Do you sell any products? If so, what? I don’t. If not, do you want to start a business? ^ Have your parents ever crushed your dreams? No. Do you own anything cheetah print? A pair of period panties lmao. Have you ever made a collage for your bedroom wall? Nope. Do you make DIY projects and gifts? No. Owls or peacocks? Owls. Lions or horses? Lions. Is your kitchen floor black and white checkered? Nope. What do you make wishes on? Shooting stars. What’s the best natural pain reliever? Hot water. Do you like trees? Yes, I love all plants :) What’s your favorite Paramore song? That’s a tough one omg but probably The Only Exception. What is your favorite color for bridesmaid dresses? Baby Pink or a pretty soft yellow !! Do you think you are pregnant? No. Do you like the ocean? I love it, water makes me so happy. Are you too shy to ask someone out? More along the lines of too insecure. The person you like kisses you on the forehead, do you find this cute? Yeah. Is there a high chance of you going out to the movies soon? Maybe, I wanna see The Nun. What are you listening to? “Reflection internal”- Nujabes. Have you ever dated someone longer than a year? Almost. Would you be able to climb out your bedroom window to sneak out? I don’t live with my parents so there’s no need for that, I'm on the third floor of my building though so if I ever did want to it wouldn’t work out lmao. Can you taste the difference between brand name food and store brand food? Sometimes. Would you be embarrassed to buy pads/tampons/condoms? Which one more? Wouldn't be embarrassed to buy any of them. Do you still own a VCR? I have one lying around back home somewhere. Have you ever purchased Girl Scout cookies? Yep. Do you own a nightgown?  Yes lmao. Who is one rapper that just always tends to get on your nerves? Why? Cardi B. Has anyone ever made you breakfast in bed? Were they trying to suck up? No one has ever made me it :(( When will be the next time you’ll get a shot? What is this shot anyway? Idk. When will you next eat tacos? Do you even like tacos, or not so much? Idk when I'll eat them next but I like them. Do you know anyone who is pregnant? Yep!! Would you or have you ever engaged in casual sex? I guess I sort of have engaged in it before but not really because it lead to a real relationship not long after lmao, however if I had no romantic feelings for someone I would prob engage in it now. What’s your favorite thing about spring? The rain, new life, the melting snow and the smell that’s always in the air. Have you ever tried belly dancing? If so, did you like it? Never tried it haha. Were you a part of any clique in high school? Nah. Have you ever given blood? No but I'd like to. Do you like the way you grew up? Yes I had a very happy childhood. Would you prefer to read or write poetry? Read. If you were to have a child, what would the last name be? Mine ig. Are you currently working? And if so do you like your job? I’m not working. Have you ever walked out on a job or just not showed up? No. Have you told your parents all of your secrets from when you were a teen? No, I still am a teen haha. Would you rather be able to fly or walk on water? Fly. What’s the best club you’ve ever been to? Never been to one. Which sport are you the best at playing? Competitive swimming if that counts. Do you know anyone who has gotten pregnant despite using contraception? Probably. Are you planning on buying a house in the near future? No. What was your favorite family vacation you went on as a kid? Trip to Alberta. What’s something about you that others might find unpleasant or off-putting? I can be kind of distant and very quiet at times. Have you ever kissed someone with a beard? Not a full on beard but they had a lil bit of facial hair. When you were younger, did you believe in Santa?  Yeah. Are you going to make your kids believe in Santa? Of course. Have you ever made your own calendar? No. What foreign language did you take in high school? French. Do your parents have gray hair? No. What’s your favorite Katy Perry song? Don’t have one What was the last thing you did that made you feel proud of yourself? Finished my English assignment and figured out the first two questions on my math. What was the last significant and great thing that happened in your life? Started university and met lots of great people. What is your favorite Starbucks’ drink? I don’t go there much but I like their pumpkin spice lattes and refreshers. Who are your last 3 missed calls from? They’re all from my mom haha. Do you like Skittles? Sure. Do you blow dry your hair? Yes. How do you like your eggs? Fertilized. What song is the catchiest song you know? 365 So Fresh! What is your greatest life accomplishment? Don’t know yet. Who is the last person you left a voicemail for? I don't leave those. Which is better: the Twilight book, or the Twilight movie? Neither. Do you enjoy crossword puzzles? Not really idk. Do you own any records?  Yep. Who was the last guy you called? Idk. You can only listen to THREE CDs for the rest of your life. What are they? I’m too tired to think about this. What is the most unique or uncommon thing about you? My whole being is unique and uncommon. What happened the last time you were in a fight with someone? They hung up on me lmao :-) Have you ever been in a physical fight? Who started it? No. What is your favorite type of kiss/way of kissing? Sloppy and sexual with lots of tongue. Favorite form of affection in general/not sexual/etc? Cuddles. What do you think about anime? LOVE. Who is the last person you unfollowed on Tumblr, and why did you do this? I can’t remember who that would be. What are some upcoming concerts in your town/city? There is like a Christian one being held here thanksgiving lmao. Is there any type of medicine you can’t take? For what reason? Not that I know of. Would you rather have potato or chicken noodle soup if you had to? Chicken noodle soup. If something on your body hurts, which part is it most likely to be? My nipples rn since they are newly pierced haha. Is Russian or Native American history more interesting to you? Loved learning about Russian history. Have you ever put gum on the bottom of your desk/chair? No. Would you rather go to the movies, drive-in, or stay at home and watch a movie? Go to the movies. Would you ever be a race-car driver? No. What kind of deodorant do you use? Secret cool water lily, smells so good. Have you ever wished you were born the opposite sex? No. What was the last thing you spent a lot of time thinking about? My ex. What do you think about astrology/the zodiac? If you used to believe/not believe in it, what changed your mind? I’m not a super avid believer but I find it to actually be pretty accurate sometimes and I like to learn about it, it’s fun. What is one conspiracy you believe in? Or one you think is total crap? Idk I believe in so many conspiracy theories there are a lot. Where was the last place you didn’t want to go but had to anyway? Class this morning. When was the last time you yelled/screamed and why? I dunno. What was the last big decision you made? Do you think you made the right choice? To breakup with my ex, I think it was the right decision for both of us although it really hurt and still do sometimes. What Hogwarts house are you in? What do you think about the “stereotypes” regarding your house? I always say i’m Slytherin even though I don’t even read/watch Harry Potter. What is something you want to do, but you don’t think you’ll ever be able to? Travel the world. When was the last time you left somewhere for forever (or at least don’t plan on returning)? Dunno. What was the last thing you quit? ^ Do you like to help people? How about animals? Which would you rather help, if it applies? Of course I like to help both, it depends on the situation which I'd like to help more. As an adult, what is the most and least you’ve weighed?  Not sure. What is something you like that no one else you know likes too? No idea. What is something you don’t like that everyone seems to like? X. Do you follow a particular diet/meal-plan/ethic? Nah. What is a subject you tend to avoid with other people, for whatever reason? My sexuality. What is the longest (or most involved) thing you’ve ever written? An English research paper. Do you prefer to live with others or by yourself? Why is this? I have a roommate n I lover her :) the university put us together. What scares you about getting older? The physical effects health wise. What about something you’ve done that sounds too wild to believe? Raised up ducklings in my closet hahah. What was the last thing someone made fun of you for? I don’t know. Do you have a member of the opposite sex you’ve told everything to? Pretty much. What color hair do you find sexiest on the opposite gender? Black n dark brown. Who last slept in your bed besides you? My ex (my bed back home) no one has slept in my dorm bed besides me yet. If the last person you had sex with asked you to date them, would you? I’d heavily consider taking them back but I mean. If you could see any musician live, front row, who would you choose? BTS!! I’ve been on the Kpop grind lately.